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FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 


'Ohj   it   ain't   money   that   can   buy   this — it's   a   promise !" 

she  exclaimed. 


FLAMES   OF 
THE  BLUE   RIDGE 


BY 

ETHEL  AND  JAMES  DORRANCE 


NEW  YORK 
THE  MACAULAY  COMPANY 


Copyright,  19 19, 
By  the  MACAULAY  COMPANY 


Copyright,  1919, 
By  Frank  A.  Munsey  Co. 


TO  THE   MEMORY  OF 

PAT 

THIS  BOOK  IS  FONDLY  INSCRIBED. 

As  a  third  collaborator,  he  attended 
upon  the  writing  of  the  story  with  un- 
flagging optimism  and  helped  to  light 
the  way  to  the  end  with  those  flames 
of  dog  devotion  that  burn  steadiest  and 
bluest    in    the    white    bull-terrier    heart. 


Ethel  and  James, 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGH 

I.    Red II 

II.    Satisfaction  Sought 22 

III.  Stranger  Unwelcome 31 

IV.  Glory  Be! 38 

V.    Departure  Delayed 48 

VI.  The  Conspirators     ......  56 

VII.     Razzle-Dazzle 63 

VIII.     Popper  of  Popskull 69 

IX.     Flame  Flares •]"] 

X.     Safety  First 87 

XI.    Teetotalers  Two 98 

XII.     From  Ambush 107 

XIII.  Drops  of  Fire 120 

XIV.  His  Cut-back 129 

XV.    Varmint  Fool! 142 

XVI.     Paid  by  Promise 149 

XVII.    Jug's  Bottom 157 

XVIII.     Spring  Is  Here 168 

XIX.     See  Yourself 175 

XX.  Court  of  Hills    .     .     .     .  ^  .     .     ,  183 

XXI.    Hi,  Verney! 187 

XXII.     Slick  At  That 198 

XXIII.  Particeps  Criminis 209 

XXIV,  Gun-Getting 220 

7 


8 


CHAPTER 

XXV. 


XXVI. 

XXVII. 

XXVIII. 

XXIX. 

XXX. 

XXXI. 

XXXII. 

XXXIII. 

XXXIV. 

XXXV. 

XXXVI. 

XXXVII. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Conqueror  of  Himself       .     .     .     .231 

Wait  and  See 244 

Knock-out  Champion 253 

Antic  Colt 261 

Come  to  Grips 271 

Drilled 278 

The  Bluest  Flame 286 

Extra! 297 

Short  Warning 308 

To-night's  the  Night 313 

The  Bald  Grumbles 323 

Dreams  Made  Real 330 

True  Blue 337 


FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 


FLAMES   OF  THE  BLUE 

RIDGE 


CHAPTER  I 

RED 

The  driver  had  announced  their  approach  to  Dis- 
mal Gap.  The  front  axle  had  broken,  the  ancient 
stage  had  tipped,  the  horses  had  tried  to  bolt. 

Calvin  Parker,  with  baggage  and  other  miscel- 
lany, felt  the  hurl  of  his  rapid  descent  Into  a  new 
life.  There  was  a  ditch;  there  was  much  mud,  oozy 
mud;  there  was  somebody  tugging  at  his  collar.  He 
had  a  feeling  of  resentment;  then  sank  into  ob- 
livion. 

Later,  he  became  convinced  that  he  still  was  alive. 
The  situation  was  too  utterly  mundane  to  hope 
otherwise.  He  seemed  to  be  lying  on  a  bank  be- 
side the  road.  That  officious  somebody  must  have 
dragged  him  there.     Had  It  been  the  driver? 

Vaguely  he  began  to  remember  certain  ministra- 
tions to  his  face  and  manipulation  of  his  ears  which 
raised  a  doubt. 

An  Initiatory  muscular  test  aroused  in  him  the 
ambition  to  sit  up.  This  fulfilled,  he  glanced  around. 
So  vociferously  engaged  was  the  jehu  of  the  hills 
in  untangling  his  pair  of  splotch-freckled  grays  from 

II 


12       FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

the  snarled  harness,  so  regardless  was  he  of  how 
his  quondam  passenger  fared  that  it  scarcely  could 
have  been  he. 

Parker  enlarged  the  scope  of  his  vision. 

Nearby  stood  a  small  white  mule,  gazing  at  him 
with  ears  waggling  and  an  expression  of  amuse- 
ment on  his  elongated  face.  The  mule  was  all  white 
except  his  legs — they  were  red  to  a  point  above  the 
knees.  This  detail  made  Parker  recall  what  he  al- 
ready had  noticed,  that  the  oozy  mud  of  the  ditch, 
of  that  fast  drying  in  the  noonday  heat  on  his  clothes, 
of  that  sticking  to  the  straight-depending  forelock 
of  his  hair,  was  red,  an  insistent,  metallic  red. 

The  mule  irritated  Parker.  Why  should  he  stand 
there  grinning  when  his  own  four  legs  were  stained 
with  the  mud?  And  who  was  he  to  grin,  anyhow, 
bridled  in  servitude,  cinched  tight  around  the  belly 
from  the  saddle  on  his  back? 

Clutching  the  horn  of  the  saddle  was  a  brown 
hand,  with  long,  strong  fingers.  The  hand  it  was 
that  caused  Parker  to  hft  his  gaze  and  see,  just  be- 
hind and  above  the  mule,  another  amused  face 
gazing  down  at  him — the  face  of  a  tall  girl  in  a 
short-skirted  garment  of  coarse  material  that  looked 
to  be  homespun. 

Irritated  by  a  new  perception,  Parker  clapped  a 
gloved  hand  over  his  eyes.  The  hair  of  the  girl, 
showing  beneath  the  sweep  of  her  felt  hat,  was  also 
red. 

Red!    Was  everything  still  to  be  red? 

^'I_you— we " 

He  muttered  the  assorted  pronouns  by  way  of 
trying  his  voice,  his  gloved  hand  still  comforting 
his  eyelids. 


RED  13 

**Right  smart  of  a  spill,  wasn't  It?" 

At  her  voice,  nicely  modulated,  he  removed  his 
hand  and  looked  at  her  again.  She  had  come  around 
the  mule,  was  approaching  him.  And,  as  she  came, 
he  felt  comforted. 

On  consideration,  her  hair  shouldn't  be  called  red. 
No  hair  growing  from  human  scalp  was  really  red, 
as  other  things  were  accounted  red.  The  fellow 
who  had  started  the  fad  of  calling  It  so  must  have 
been  color-blind,  for  the  same  shades.  If  reproduced 
In  fabric  or  squeezed  from  a  tube,  would  be  golden- 
brown,  burnt  umber,  sienna,  mahogany,  copper — 
what  not.  This  girl's  hair  was  marvelous,  but  not 
red.    And  the  grin  on  her  face,  too,  had  toned  down. 

The  long  line  of  born-and-bred  Parkers  back  of 
him  began  to  urge  that,  If  possible,  he  achieve  his 
feet.  He  took  a  brief  satisfaction  In  his  success, 
then  added  a  step  or  two  to  meet  her. 

*'You  pulled  me  out  of  the  mud?"  he  asked  In 
a  sagging  voice. 

She  looked  put  to  it  to  maintain  her  toned-down 
expression,  but  answered  as  If  excusing  a  liberty. 

''Man,  you  were  hurting  for  It — ^you  were  plumb 
bogged!" 

After  peeling  off  his  right  glove,  he  substantiated 
that  uneasy  memory  of  ministrations  to  his  counte- 
nance. 

"It  was  you,  then,  that  washed  my  face?" 

*'Hope  I  didn't  bother  you  none.  When  we-uns 
scour,  we  scour  severe." 

"And  my  ears — you  dug  them  out?'* 

"You  can  hear,  can't  you?" 

Those  other  Parkers  nudged  this  last  of  them  to 
thank  her,  but  she  either  did  not  expect  It  or  did 


14       FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

not  want  it.  She  had  turned  the  white  mule,  was 
about  to  mount. 

At  the  moment  the  stage  driver,  who  seemed  to 
have  conquered  the  refractoriness  of  both  team  and 
harness — at  any  rate,  had  hitched  the  horses  to  a 
wheel — came  toward  the  lesser,  or  human  element  in 
the  accidental  equation. 

** 'Lo,  Verney!  How  be  you-all  to-day?"  His 
greeting  preceded  him. 

^Tolerable,  Tobe  Rlker.'^ 

There  was  snap  In  her  reply  and  the  fact  that 
she  did  not  spare  him  so  much  as  a  glance. 

"And  you-all's  folks,  how  be  they?"  he  persisted. 

"Tolerable." 

Her  foot  found  the  stirrup.  An  upward  swing, 
which  disclosed  a  stretch  of  leg,  white-cotton-clad 
and  of  excellent  outline,  placed  her  In  the  saddle. 
With  a  nod  in  the  direction  of  the  stranger  whom 
she  had  unbogged,  but  never  a  lift  of  the  eyelids 
toward  the  little  whip,  she  scraped  the  ribs  of  her 
mount  with  both  heels. 

"Hi  there — ^you  ain't  no  call  to  get  riled!"  Un- 
dismayed, Tobe  RIker  went  padding  toward  her. 
"Tm  a-wanting  to  ask  after  your  pappy.  Still  try- 
ing to  light  his  mortal  path  with  them  hellish  blue 
flames  of  his'n,  is  he  now?" 

Displeasure  brightened  the  tan  of  the  girl's 
cheeks  as,  for  the  first  time,  she  looked  squarely  at 
him.    Her  voice  nipped  the  air  in  reply. 

"If  he  finds  them,  I  reckon  you'd  be  the  likeliest 
stick  hereabouts  to  feed  them  with.  At  any  rate" 
— she  consulted  the  sun-clock  with  an  upward  glance 
— ^"I've  no  spare  time  for  your  dry  crackles  to-day; 
I've  got  a  meetin'  to  keep." 


RED  15 

She  flipped  the  reins,  again  reminded  the  hybrid 
in  the  region  of  his  ribs,  laughed  mockingly,  and 
was  off.  Up  the  road  twinkled  the  beast's  red 
shanks,  glinted  the  sun  on  her  hair. 

"Her  reg'lar  meetin'  for  two,  I  'spect!"  Thus 
the  driver,  with  marked  vindictiveness.  "I  hope 
she's  late.  It  sure  would  disgust  Rex  Currie  some 
to  hear  the  reason  why!'^ 

*'And  who  may  our  good  Samaritan  be?"  Parker 
inquired,  by  way  of  recalling  him  from  the  state  of 
rage  or  enthrallment  in  which  he  stood,  gazing  and 
muttering. 

"Who  is — who?  Rex  Currie?  That's  something 
you-all  are  due  to  find  out,  stranger,  if  you  try  set- 
ting up  to  Verney  Metcalf.  Eh?  Look  yer,  if  it's 
onto  her  you  be  splicing  that  Scripture  name,  you're 
offen  the  road  bad  as  yon  stage-coach.  That  girl 
ain't  no  comfort  to  nobody,  as  I  can  see.  Least- 
wise, she  acts  mighty  ornery." 

"You  seemed  to  make  her  angry."  Parker  spoke 
disagreeably;  he  felt  disagreeable.  "I  wanted  to 
thank  her  for  dragging  me  out  of  the  ditch;  was 
about  to  do  so  when  you  broke  in  and  drove  her 
off." 

"  'Twa'n't  such  a  trick  she  done  you.  I  was  aim- 
ing to  yank  you  out  myself,  once  I  got  that  glib  team 
back  on  the  road." 

Parker,  glancing  down  at  his  clothes,  then  into 
the  sea  of  mud  from  which  the  driver  had  intended 
to  extricate  him,  after  due  attention  to  the  harness 
and  the  splotch-flecked  grays,  was  able  to  restrain 
any  expression  of  gratitude. 

But  Tobe  Riker  noticed  no  lack.  "Can't  see  how 
she  has  any  part  to  be  putting  on  with  me,  nohow," 


i6       FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

he  was  grumbling.  "I  reckon  It's  just  that  she 
imitates  her  dad.    Oh,  not  in  looks  so  much  as " 

"I  didn't  catch  the  young  lady's  name,"  Parker 
interrupted. 

*'Metcalf.  There's  a  whole  cantankerous  family 
of  them." 

*'I  mean  her  first  name." 

*'Verney  we-all  call  her  from  the  first  half  of 
the  heathen  handle  they  struck  onto  her,  offen  a 
mountain  In  these  parts.  Vernaluska  Metcalf — 
that's  the  whole  of  what  she's  suffering  under.  Scant 
wonder  she  favors  a  wasp  mor'n  she  does  a  human- 
being  woman." 

Apparently  cheered  by  having  found  excuse  for 
her  who  had  stung  his  pride,  the  driver  withdrew 
his  gaze  from  up  the  road  and  surveyed  his  more 
immediate  plight. 

"Sorry  I  spilled  you,  stranger,  but  I'll  help  you 
tote  your  duds  into  town.  It  won't  discommode 
me  none,  for  I  got  to  enlist  a  hand  to  help  set  up 
the  coach.  It  ain't  such  a  powerful  distance,  at 
that." 

Omitting  to  incriminate  himself  as  overwhelmed 
by  this  mercy,  Parker  selected  the  lighter  of  his 
bags  and  started  along  the  comparatively  dry  path 
which  paralleled  the  oozy  road.  He  heard  Tobe 
Riker,  more  heavily  laden,  pad-padding  behind  him. 

By  the  next  conversational  overture  he  appre- 
ciated that  the  native  had  deciphered  the  inscrip- 
tion painted  on  the  rear  end  of  the  suit-case  he 
carried. 

"C.  A.  P.  is  a  right  peart  set  of  initials,"  chuckled 
the  whip.  "Be  you  a  cap  set  for  the  women-critters, 
now?    Or  do  them  letters  stand  for  night-cap?"       M 


RED  17 

On  Intercepting  the  frown  curved  over-shoulder 
at  him,  Tobe  curbed  his  facetiousness,  if  not  his 
curiosity 

*'New  York,  eh?  You  be  a  furriner,  right  enough. 
How  came  you-all  from  such  an  out-of-the-way  place 
as  New  York  to  Dismal  Gap?" 

A  bend  in  the  road  brought  the  two  into  the 
only  street  of  the  village.  Parker  set  down  his  bur- 
den with  frank  relief  and  gazed  about.  His  eyes, 
keen  to  colors,  noticed  the  pink  of  the  landscape's 
peach  blossoms,  its  white  of  plum,  its  spring-green 
of  tree  and  shrub;  they  lifted  from  the  red  and 
ocher  earth  at  his  feet  to  the  cerulean  panoply  over- 
head; they  marked  the  buildings  which  flanked  either 
side  of  the  street,  not  so  much  for  their  frame 
structure  or  possible  purpose  as  for  the  uniform 
tone  they  had  been  stained,  quite  as  if  some  trades- 
man of  the  town  had  bought  up  a  wholesale  lot  of 
vermilion  paint  and  sold  it  at  a  tempting  price. 

His  wandering  glance  returned  to  the  little  whip. 

"Isn't   there    some   mistake?"    he^   asked   in   the 
weary  way  he  had,  as  if  he  really  didn't  care  whether 
answered  or  not. 

^'There's  mistakes  a-plenty  hereabouts.  What 
partic'lar  one  has  taken  your  eye?" 

"Are  you  sure  this  is  the  Gap?" 

"Sure?  Don't  I  fetch  up  here  with  the  U.  S.  M. 
three  times  per  week — leastways,  don't  I,  barring 
accidents?     This  here's  Dismal,  right  enough." 

Parker  stared  at  him  for  a  moment,  then  stooped 
to  his  bag  with  a  suppressed  sort  of  groan. 

*^Dismal?  Is  all  the  world  color-mad — or  only 
I?" 

"What  say?" 


i8       FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

The  tall  young  man  from  "furrln"  parts  did  not 
reply,  but  led  the  way  down  the  vermilion  street, 
past  three  rough-planked  stores,  brazen  in  their  false 
fronts  and  florid  signs,  past  several  dwellings  cow- 
ering from  their  comparative  insignificance. 

The  driver,  who,  from  the  rear,  had  been  vocif- 
erating their  itinerary,  called  a  halt  before  the 
most  pretentious  of  these,  a  story-and-a-half  frame, 
with  a  hospitable-looking  porch. 

*'Now  you-uns  just  climb  onto  the  stoop  and  take 
a  good,  lively  whack  at  the  door,"  he  advised. 
*'Aunt  Hootie  Plott  will  take  powerful  good  care 
of  you,  and  I'll  drop  down  your  trunk  when  I  bring 
in  the  stage." 

With  Inward  misgivings  Parker  saw  and  heard. 

*'Aunt  Hootie?     Is  this  the  hotel?" 

"Best  In  the  Gap."  Tobe  paused  to  spit  with 
vigor  and  at  great  distance  before  he  added:  "Fact 
is,  it's  the  only^  and  full  of  home-comforts.  If  you 
fall  foul  of  a  toothache,  say.  Aunt  Hootie's  husband 
will  dentist  you.  Made  his  own  nerve-pullers,  did 
the  doc,  and  they  certain-sure  can  yank." 

"Let's  hope  that  I  don't  fall  foul,"  observed  Par- 
ker, his  right  cheek  crinkling  in  a  smile. 

The  little  whip's  face  was  leathern,  both  of  tex- 
ture and  hue.  Not  once  had  its  surface  given  to 
emotion  on  the  journey.  Now,  however,  looking  up 
into  that  winning  Calvin  Parker  smile,  a  look  of 
concern,  almost  of  pity,  spilled  from  his  eyes  to  his 
mouth. 

"Say,  stranger,  you-all  be  kind  of  keerful,  will 
you?    It's  Tobe  Riker  telling  you — you  be  keerfiilF* 

His  emphasis  unexplained,  he  turned  and  flat- 
footed  It  off  to  enlist  that  helping  hand  needed  to  re- 


RED  19 

store  equilibrium  and  mobility  to  his  official  charge. 

Parker's  smile  had  quickly  retired.  He  stood 
frowning  after  his  squat  adviser.  Why  should  he  be 
careful  in  Dismal  Gap — he  who  knew  the  darkest 
shadows  as  well  as  the  brightest  lights  of  Broadway 
and  Its  tributary  streets,  the  wickedest  alleys  of 
Paris,  the  roughest  camps  of  the  old  West?  He 
moistened  his  lips.  Especially  In  view  of  his  mis- 
sion, why  should  he  be  careful? 

A  thought  came  of  the  girl  Vernaluska.  That 
must  be  it.  Obviously  the  stage-driver  was  hard  hit 
and  out  of  favor.  Preoccupation  with  his  team  had 
not  prevented  his  seeing  her  drag  another  out  of  the 
ditch.  Tobe  was  jealous,  as  proved  by  his  spleen 
over  her  appointment  with  that  high-sounding  suitor 
— was  King  Currle  the  name?  He  merely  had  re- 
Iterated  his  warning  that  the  homespun  girl  w^as  not 
for  "furrin"  suit. 

The  situation  was  amusing,  cheaply  dramatic  from 
a  moving-picture  point  of  view.  It  would  have  ap- 
pealed to  Sylvia  Brainard's  sense  of  humor. 

Here  was  he  who  had  come  to  seek  solitude  and 
surcease  of  strife,  pitched  from  the  top  seat  of  a 
stage,  dragged  from  a  mud  bath  by  a  "cantankerous'* 
mountain  belle,  advised  of  unknown  dangers  by  a 
resentful  country  swain. 

But  Sylvia  was  there  and  he  was  here — sent  here, 
he  must  remember,  by  Sylvia. 

The  door  of  the  hotel  distinguished  as  *'only'* 
was  promptly  opened,  but  not  by  one  who  possibly 
could  have  claimed  the  title  of  "aunt."  A  man,  fat 
of  figure  and  jovial-jowled,  listened  to  his  applica- 
tion. 

"I  am  Dr.  Plott,  and  powerful  glad  of  the  honor/' 


20      FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

was  the  landlord's  response,  accompanied  by  a  bow 
as  deep  as  his  well-fed  condition  would  permit.  ^'She 
went  out  a  spell  ago,  but  come  you  right  in." 

No  registration  was  required,  and  but  scant  cere- 
mony to  arrange  for  an  Indefinite  tenancy  of  the 
"best"  room,  which,  according  to  the  verbose  tooth- 
jumper,  would  be  "tidied  up"  the  minute  "she"  re- 
turned from  the  errand  of  mercy  which  had  taken 
her  from  her  "home  and  domicile." 

In  justice  to  Calvin  Parker,  any  description  of  his 
appearance  has  been  postponed  to  the  moment  when 
he  emerged  from  the  vermilion-painted  hotel.  His 
clothes  had  come  to  be  the  best  part  of  him,  and 
the  condition  of  those  just  doffed  would  have  put 
him  at  a  disadvantage. 

Now,  he  must  have  been  conspicuous  in  any  so- 
ciety mountain  resort  for  the  tailoring  of  his  Norfolk 
and  the  "latest"  check  of  his  knickerbockers.  In 
lieu  of  the  muddled  cap  of  a  few  moments  since, 
he  wore  Fifth  Avenue's  newest  in  velour  head- 
gear. His  shoes  and  puttees,  the  kerchief  In  his 
breast-pocket,  the  lock  of  hair  that  would  defy  life- 
long discipline  to  point  downward  toward  his  left 
eye — everything  about  him  was  Immaculate. 

As  for  what  there  was  left  of  himself,  he  would 
have  stood  fully  six  feet  had  he  straightened  for 
measurement;  his  frame  was  large,  if  lank,  his  fresh- 
shaven  face  pale  as  its  brunette  nature  would  allow, 
his  hair  and  eyes  dark. 

Despite  the  promptness  and  care  of  his  change, 
his  movements  were  listless,  as  though  he  had  no 
definite  objective.  On  the  top  step  of  the  porch 
he  paused  for  further  consideration  of  the  April 
tints  of  the  landscape. 


RED  21 

In  vain  did  he  seek  some  shade  of  that  color 
which  he  felt  he  had  reason  to  expect  in  the  Blue 
Ridge  country.  A  shudder  went  through  him  as 
again  he  was  struck  by  the  significance  in  Dismal 
Gap's  red  motif.  The  single  street  was  a  wide  streak 
of  it;  building  foundations  were  splashed  with  it; 
upon  the  hillsides  bare  patches  showed  the  soil  fer- 
vid with  it.  Was  it  a  sign?  Was  there  danger  in 
it  for  him? 

Colors  had  been  the  nearest  to  religion  in  his 
Ill-spent  life  and  red  was  the  color  he  was  fleeing. 
He  had  come  to  the  mountains  hoping  to  see  blue. 
And  red — red  was  everywhere ! 

He  swallowed  to  moisten  his  throat;  he  licked 
both  parched  lips;  then  at  once  his  tongue  returned 
to  comfort  the  dry  roof  of  his  mouth.  With  a  sud- 
den access  of  energy,  as  if  moved  by  a  call,  he  de- 
scended the  steps  and  started  up  the  street. 


CHAPTER  II 

SATISFACTION    SOUGHT 

The  first  of  the  false-fronted  store  buildings 
showed  to  be  empty.  Upon  its  steps  a  negro  lay 
sunning  himself,  mouth  agape,  eyelids  tight-shut  in 
a  doze.  As  a  source  of  information  he  had  value 
chiefly  In  being  the  one  human  visible  along  the 
stretch  of  street.  Calvin  Parker  turned  in  and  prod- 
ded him  considerately  with  the  toe  of  his  shoe. 

"Sorry  to  disturb  you,  Mose,  but " 

*'Howdy,  cap'n!"  was  the  return,  not  spoken  until 
the  black  had  achieved  his  feet.  "I  'spect  you're 
suffering  from  mistook  identification.  My  name  ain't 
never  been  Mose,  noway." 

"Not  Mose?    That  is  singular.     What  then?" 

"I'm  a  Lee  nigger,  cap'n.  Cotton  Eye  in  the 
course  of  personification." 

As  if  to  verify  the  claim,  he  pointed  a  stubbed 
forefinger  to  the  corner  of  one  eye,  the  iris  of  which 
showed  white,  at  once  giving  him  a  most  sinister 
look  and  explaining  his  sobriquet.  The  other  eye 
was  unflecked,  round,  small,  dull  as  soot. 

"Cotton  Eye  Lee" — Parker  took  a  fresh  start — 
"Fm  a  stranger  In  a  strange  land  and  very  much  in 
need  of  advice  which  you  can  give." 

Leaning,  he  murmured  a  question  close  to  one  of 
the  assertive  black  ears. 


22 


SATISFACTION  SOUGHT  23 

A  time  or  two  the  negro  batted  his  flecked  eye, 
over  what  proved  to  be  the  form  of  the  question 
rather  than  its  substance. 

^Trodigious — prodigious,"  he  repeated,  evidently 
intent  on  adding  to  his  vocabulary.  "That  is  easy, 
cap'n,"  he  replied  at  last.  "I  prodigious  that  you- 
all  can  quench  it  at  the  spring  which  is  transfixed 
behind  the  post-office  up  yon." 

Impatience  controlled  Parker's  expression.  His 
heavy  lids  drooped  over  the  searching  look  of  his 
eyes.  Simultaneously  his  right  hand  slunk  Into  a 
pocket  of  his  knickers. 

"Water  is  very  well  in  a  tub,"  he  said.  "What 
I  am  asking  you,  as  man  to  man,  is  where  to  get  a 
drink/' 

A  dollar  bill  was  drawn  from  the  checked  depths, 
to  be  smoothed  out  between  the  interlocutor's 
palms. 

"I  reckon  you  ben't  referencing  to  bust-head,  now, 
be  you,  cap'n?"  asked  the  negro  In  an  unctuous 
voice. 

"We'll  christen  It  what  you  like,  if  you'll  lead  me 


to  It." 


The  mismated  eyes  remained  on  the  green-back, 
the  thick  lips  pouched  well  over  their  ivories,  the 
black  brow  puckered  in  a  cartoon  of  despair  as  Cot- 
ton Eye  replied:  "In  consideration  of  all  the  cir- 
cumstantials, I  'spect  we  can't  have  the  christening, 
noway." 

"What  circumstances?    Why  can't  we?" 

"Cap'n,  don't  you-uns  know  that  Nor'  Carolina 
is  dry  as  the  dust  of  a  shank-bone?" 

To  Parker  the  reluctant  admission  was  the  whine 
of  his  destiny,  the  wail  of  doom.     It  was  true,  then. 


24      FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

even  as  Spencer  Pope  had  declared?  The  prescrip- 
tion for  his  own  case,  which  he  himself  had  sug- 
gested that  Spence  and  Sylvia  dictate,  had  been 
correctly  filled.  He  would  have  to  gulp  down  the 
dose. 

In  that  moment  he  realized  that  all  along  he  had 
been  expecting  to  find  some  oasis  in  the  Southern 
Sahara  to  which  he  had  been  exiled.  Yet  he  might 
have  known  that  Spencer,  through  his  long  service 
in  the  Internal  Revenue  Department,  with  a  best 
friend's  interests  at  heart,  would  make  no  error  in 
the  geography  of  drought. 

"Land  sakes,"  insisted  the  little  black,  "them  tar- 
nal  drys  has  done  closed  up  even  the  'spensary! 
Leastwise '* 

Something  in  the  suspension  of  the  last  word,  in 
the  cling  of  the  batting  eyes  to  his  hand,  in  the  lis- 
tening turn  of  the  outstanding  ears  gave  Parker 
hope.  Deliberately  he  crumpled  the  dollar  bill  and 
made  a  movement  toward  its  retirement. 

The  stubbed  hand  twitched  after  it. 

"I  was  about  to  say,  cap'n,  that  if  you  meander 
yourself,  just  casual-like,  up  to  the  post-office  and 
make  known  your  hankerings  to  General  Asa  Simms, 
him  being  mogul  of  the  wets  yerabouts,  he  might — 
although  yet  again  he  mightn't — like  the  looks  of 
you-uns'  personal  appearance  enough  to '' 

"He's  got  the  red-eye  on  tap?" 

The  informant,  having  deposited  the  bill  where 
It  might  not  easily  be  dislodged,  leered  humor- 
ously. 

"Now  youVe  sayed  it!  He's  sure  enough  got  the 
red-eye."  ^     ' 

The  post-office  proved  to  be   combined  with  a 


SATISFACTION  SOUGHT  25 

general  store.  On  entering,  Parker  was  annoyed 
to  see  the  girl  who,  In  a  way,  had  ushered  him  Into 
Dismal  Gap.  Probably  she  had  missed  the  "meet- 
in'  "  she  was  to  have  kept — and  on  account  of  wash- 
ing out  his  ears.  In  view  of  the  urgency  of  his  er- 
rand and  his  Increased  sense  of  obligation  toward 
her,  her  presence  was  most  unfortunate. 

She  was  seated  on  a  stationary  stool  before  the 
counter,  fingering  a  cluttered  array  of  dry-goods. 
The  tall,  gaunt-featured  Individual  leaning  toward 
her  from  behind  the  counter  he  assumed  to  be 
"General"  SImms,  the  master  mogul  who  just  might, 
and  yet  again,  might  not  embrace  him  in  brotherly 
love. 

Neither  looked  up  as  he  started  across  the  floor, 
a  fact  which  seemed  studied,  if  not  more  unpleas- 
antly significant.  Assuming  what  he  hoped  would 
look  an  easy,  waiting  posture  against  the  shelf  be- 
fore the  mall  wicket,  he  framed  In  his  Intentions  per- 
functory words  calculated  to  express  gratitude  to 
her  who  had  unbogged  him.  His  debt  to  her  must 
be  canceled. 

While  leaning  and  waiting,  he  began  to  notice 
other  things  than  the  hair  of  her  so  Inappropriately 
named  for  a  mountain.  Next  to  color,  lines — so 
read  his  litany. 

And  she  had  lines,  other  than  those  excellent  ones 
of  white-stockinged  leg.  Her  body,  while  slender  to 
thinness  and  crudely  clad,  showed  not  an  offensive 
angle.  It  had,  rather,  the  sinuous  yield  of  youth. 
Her  profile,  as  outlined  against  the  gloom  of  the 
store's  Interior,  was  cut  like  a  cameo — forehead 
massed  low  with  that  marvelous  hair,  nose  quite 
straight  and  well  sized,  mouth  short-lipped  and  gen- 


26       FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

erous,  chin  strong,  yet  saved  by  the  gracious,  long 
sweep  of  her  throat. 

Truly,  even  though  in  her  "ornery'*  nature  she 
might  emulate  the  austerity  of  Mt.  Vernaluska,  the 
namesake  was  pleasant  enough  to  see !  Despite  the 
resentment  of  his  inner  man  at  her  delay  of  his  pres- 
ent plans,  he  acknowledged  that,  as  a  creditor,  she 
might  have  been  worse. 

Although  beyond  the  range  of  their  lowered 
voices,  he  could  not  help  suspecting  from  the  store- 
keeper's indirect  glances  toward  the  door  that  him- 
self and  not  the  bolts  of  print-goods  had  become 
the  subject  under  discussion.  This  impression  was 
strengthened  when  the  girl,  without  waiting  to  com- 
plete any  purchase,  arose  and  started  toward  the 
rear  of  the  store,  where  an  open  door  promised 
egress. 

Parker  started  after  her. 

"I  beg  pardon.  Miss — Miss "  he  began. 

She  turned  with  an  expression  so  surprised  that 
he  could  not  be  sure  whether  it  was  real  or  as- 
sumed. 

"You  seem  always  to  be  going  away" — when 
he  had  bridged  the  space  between  them.  "Down 
the  road  you  didn't  give  me  time  to  ex- 
press  " 

"What  goes  without  expressing."  Her  interrup- 
tion was  put  in  that  same  modulated  voice  he  had 
appreciated  even  in  his  confused,  earlier  state. 
"Don't  you-all  feel  in  my  debt;  the  look  of  you  had 
done  paid  me  in  advance." 

The  look  of  him — had  he,  then,  looked  so  ridi-' 
culous  before  she  had  cleaned  him  up?  Even  so, 
she  needn't  have  reminded  him.    Why  was  she  mak- 


SATISFACTION  SOUGHT  27 

ing  it  so  uncommonly  hard  to  thank  her?  They 
usually  wanted  to  be  thanked,  women. 

''Nevertheless,  as  an  entire  stranger  and  one  not 
addicted  to  mud  baths  so  much  as " 

*'As  you  seem  to  be  afflicted  with  loss  of  words,'* 
she  again  made  breezy  interruption.  "I  know  it 
ain't  good  manners  to  mention  such  things,  but  I've 
missed  one  meetin'  on  your  account,  and  there'll  be 
a  second  if  I  don't  shuffle  along." 

"So  Tobe  Riker  steam.ed  over  a  drop  of  truth  for 
once!" 

Both  turned  at  the  entrance  of  a  nev/  voice  into 
the  parley.  Just  outside  the  door  stood  a  young 
man  splendidly  built  and  of  more  sophisticated  ap- 
pearance than  any  Parker  had  so  far  met  in  the  re- 
gion. 

The  exclamation  itself  was  enough  to  identify 
him.  Evidently  the  stage-driver  had  met  up  with 
the  formidable  Currie,  about  whom  any  stranger 
was  due  to  find  out  who  tried  "setting"  up  to  his 
lady  of  scorn.  To  judge  by  his  looks,  the  man  in 
the  door  had  heard  the  reason  why  Miss  Metcalf 
had  failed  to  keep  her  appointment  with  him,  and 
felt  "disgusted  some." 

At  once  the  girl  seemed  to  forget  the  beneficiary 
of  her  accidental  lapse,  in  obligation  to  him  who  had 
lost  thereby. 

"Why  didn't  you  wait.  Rex?  I  wasn't  such  an 
awful  stretch  late.  Your  temper's  too  quick.  I 
might  have  delayed  leaving  home;  Solomon  might 
have  taken  a  lay-me-down  streak;  a  dozen  things 
might  have  been  to  blame." 

The  newcomer  had  removed  his  hat  from  a  care- 
fully-brushed shock  of  dark  brown  hair  and  stepped 


28       FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

into  the  room.  Parker  noticed  that  he  wore  his 
*'store"  clothes  well,  that  his  cheerful-hued  tie  was 
not  of  the  ready-knotted  variety,  that  his  short  mus- 
tache was  properly  trimmed.  He  was,  on  the  whole, 
rather  exceptionally  handsome,  with  bold,  but  well- 
cut  features,  gray  eyes  of  a  fiery,  restless  expression 
and  sensitive  mouth.  Amusing  that  the  leathern- 
skinned  little  whip  should  hope  for  a  chance  against 
this  young  Adonis ! 

"A  dozen  regular  things  might  have  been  to  blame 
for  sure,  Verney,  only  they  weren't,"  he  was  saying. 
*'rm  a  right  fair  waiter  where  you're  concerned, 
but  I've  got  my  limits." 

"Sorry  to  have  been  the  cause  of  deranging  the 
plans  of  you  good  folks,"  Parker  spoke  up  pleas- 
antly.    "Quite — quite  inadvertant,  I  assure  you." 

Currle  met  this  overture  in  good  part.  "No  par- 
ticular harm  has  been  done — "jet!^ 

In  the  pause  which  doubly  emphasized  the  three- 
lettered  suggestion,  his  glance  returned  to  the  girl, 
whose  face  now  showed  a  faint  flush,  perhaps  in 
resentment  of  what  he  had  implied,  rather  than  said. 
The  smile  with  which  she  favored  Parker  took  his 
breath. 

"I  trust  you  don't  suffer  none — not  even  headache 
— from  your  spill?" 

The  eyes  of  the  camouflaged  hillbilly,  which  had 
moved  from  one  to  the  other,  seemed  to  take  fire, 
although  he  still  maintained  his  tolerant  manner. 

"And  now,  hon,  if  you've  said  enough  pretties  to 
the  stranger,  let's  be  moving  if  I'm  to  ride  home 
with  you.  Glad  to  have  met  you,  stranger,  and 
good-by." 

"Whysaygood-by?" 


SATISFACTION  SOUGHT  29 

Parker's  question  went  unanswered  and  not  be- 
cause put  in  such  banal  form.  He  saw  that  some 
other  question  was  at  issue,  one  in  which  he  had 
no  voice.  Currie  had  laid  a  persuasive  hand  upon 
the  girl's  arm,  only  to  have  it  vigorously  shaken  off. 

"Hon?"  she  repeated,  her  voice  whittled  to  the 
edge  with  which  she  had  nipped  Tobe  Riker.  "Since 
when " 

But  she  seemed  to  think  better  of  a  public  re- 
buke. With  a  shrug,  she  continued  her  interrupted 
progress  toward  the  rear  door.  On  the  sill  she 
paused,  turned  and,  in  very  face  of  her  splendid 
looking  suitor's  resentment,  sent  Parker  another 
of  those  pulse-stirring  smiles. 

Not  until  after  she  had  passed  into  the  yard,  after 
he  had  nodded  automatically  to  Currie  and  seen 
the  last  of  the  powerful  back  disappearing  in  her 
wake,  did  Parker  move.  He  was  absorbed  in 
thoughts  about  that  smile  of  hers,  in  conjecture  over 
just  what  combinations  of  form  and  color  made  it 
so  radiant,  in  deliberate  effort  to  store  the  first  im- 
pression of  it  in  a  brain-cell  from  which  it  might  be 
taken  out  later  at  will.  Such  life,  youth,  tenderness 
was  in  it — could  it  be  reproduced  in  oils? 

His  appreciation  was  in  no  way  spoiled  by  know- 
ing that  it  had  not  been  meant  for  him,  really.  Al- 
though focused  directly  upon  him,  her  eyes  had 
been  as  elusive  as  seemed  her  disposition,  their  ex- 
pression as  impersonal  as  might  have  been  those  of 
a  model  posing  for  that  especial  effect.  She  had 
smiled  on  him,  he  knew,  to  punish  her  admirer  for 
assumption  of  an  authority  over  her  which  evidently 
she  had  not  given  him — yet. 

And  it  was  a  good  thing  she  had  not  meant  It  for 


30       FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

him — ^that  would  have  Increased  his  obligation.  But 
what  if  he  hadn't  deposited  it  safe  in  that  memory 
cell? 

Already  the  vitality  of  It  was  slipping  from  him, 

now  that  she  had  gone.     Just  possibly Well, 

he  might  need  to  see  that  smile  again. 


CHAPTER  III 

STRANGER   UNWELCOME 

*Tes,  sir?" 

The  succinct  question  startled  Parker  from  his 
thoughts — returned  them  with  a  swallow  to  his  mo- 
mentarily forgotten  quest.  He  found  that  the  lank 
proprietor,  who  had  been  occupied  during  the  back- 
door colloquy  rewinding  print-bolts  and  restoring 
them  to  the  shelves,  now  stood  In  the  aisle  behind 
him.  In  the  voice  was  no  trace  of  the  mountain 
drawl  which  he  was  coming  to  take  for  granted; 
rather,  it  had  a  pronounced  Yankee  twang.  A  pair 
of  pale-gray  eyes  were  fixed  upon  him  in  an  intense 
look. 

"I  assume,"  Parker  began,  "that  you  are  Post- 
master SImms?" 

*'You  assume  correctly,  both  as  to  my  name  and 
office.  If  you  are  expecting  mail,  there's  none  for 
you." 

At  this  curt  reply  to  a  query  unasked  Parker 
forced  an  increase  of  friendliness  into  his  manner. 

*'But  how  can  you  be  sure  when  you  don't  know 
my  name?"  he  suggested  engagingly. 

Simm's  attitude  did  not  change.  *'This  office 
pigeon-holes  no  mail  to-day  addressed  to  persons  not 
known  to  me.    Any  other  business?'* 

He  who  had  such  urgent  ''other  business"  tried 

31 


32       FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

to  silence  the  demands  of  the  comptroller  within 
himself,  tried  for  finesse.  It  was  evident  that  Simms 
did  not  take  to  him  at  first  glance,  was  not  going 
to  embrace  him  fraternally.  He  was  accustomed  to 
having  people  like  him;  he  must  explain  his  pres- 
ence, ingratiate  himself. 

"I'm  a  stranger  in  your  village,  Mr.  Simms — Cal- 
vin A.  Parker,  a  well-meaning  painter  of  pictures 
who " 

*'Who  wouldn't  have  to  be  very  good  to  be  bet- 
ter than  those  who  have  come  to  these  parts  before. 
Artist?    Well,  you  look  it!" 

The  comptroller  reminded  Parker  that  everything 
depended  on  his  seeming  good  nature.  "I  had  some- 
thing of  a  shake-up  just  outside  the  village;  got 
chucked  into  the  ditch  from " 

"Verney  Metcalf  told  me  all  about  that.  I  find 
myself  right  busy  this  afternoon." 

Again  the  mogul  of  the  wets  had  cut  him  off. 

"I  hoped  you  might  be  able  to  tell  me  of  some 
cabin  not  too  far  back  in  the  Blue  Ridge  which  I 
could  rent  for  the  summer." 

"And  what  do  you  want  a  cabin  for?" 

Into  this  doubtful  conversational  overture  Parker 
plunged.     "I'm  keen  about  hunting,  for  one  thing.'* 

"This  section's  all  hunted  out,  sir.  There  ain't 
enough  game  left  for  folks  that  live  here  and  have 
a  right  to  it.  You'd  find  better  hunting  elsewhere^ 
say,  down  In  the  Tusqulte  or  the  Nantahala  coun- 
try." 

"But  killing  is  not  my  chief  vice.  What  I  came 
for  is  to  get  some  of  your  Blue  Ridge  colors  on  can- 
vas." 

Slmms's  head  threw  back  and  his  unpleasantly 


STRANGER  UNWELCOME  33 

long  nose  Inflated.  *'WeVe  had  artists  here  before, 
I  tell  you,  and  they  were  none  too  popular.'* 

"Was  their  work  so  bad?" 

The  self-declared  member  of  the  profession  was 
determined  to  bear  up  to  the  last. 

*Tt  wasn't  their  work  so  much,  young  fellow.  It's 
just  that  painting  In  general  ain't  good  hereabouts. 
I  don't  mind  at  all  telling  you  this  gratis." 

Parker  bowed  his  acknowledgments. 

"Aside  from  the  reasons  mentioned,  Mr.  SImms, 
I  think  a  few  months  In  your  mountains  will  bene- 
fit my  health.  I  hoped  you  might  happen  to  know 
of " 

The  postmaster,  In  his  next  interruption,  assumed 
the  gravity  of  a  physician  when  he  advises  a  patient 
to  make  his  will. 

"Health?  Don't  you  ever  believe  it.  Whoever 
told  you  that  must  have  had  evil  designs  on  you. 
This  Is  a  most  unhealthy  country  for  strangers. 
After  I  moved  here  from  Vermont,  I  was  five  years 
getting  acclimated.  Besides  which,  there  ain't  any 
cabin  vacant.  Since  the  State  went  dry  we've  been 
shaking  hands  with  prosperity,  and  every  hut  is 
chock-a-block,  for  a  fact." 

The  Pharisaical  expression  and  devout  delivery 
of  this  last  discouragement  might  have  overcome 
Parker's  doubts  had  not  his  nostrils  collected  certain 
whiffs  of  adverse  testimony.  The  postmaster's 
breath  was  unmistakable — a  complete  vindication  of 
Cotton  Eye's  tribute,  "mogul  of  the  wets." 

"Almost  do  you  make  me  believe,"  he  said  more 
cheerfully,  "that  strangers  are  unwelcome  in  Dismal 
Gap." 

"Almost  do  you  get  me  right."    For  the  moment 


34       FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

Simms's  manner  approached  graciousness.  "Mildly 
speaking,  strangers  are  unwelcome.  You  wouldn't 
be  likely  to  enjoy  a  visit  here — certainly  not  in  those 
clothes — hunting  either  pictures  or  health." 

^'Somehow,  I'm  not  so  sure — even  In  thes^ 
clothes."  The  young  man  smoothed  his  left  sleevfe 
with  his  right  hand  respectingly. 

"Anyway,  there's  no  empty  cabin  for  you," 
snapped  the  postmaster. 

All  through  the  interview  those  other  Parkers 
had  been  advising  their  descendant.  Now  they 
nudged  him,  warned  him  not  to  lose  his  temper.  His 
manner  did  them  proud. 

"At  least  there  is  no  necessity  for  me  to  leave 
Mrs.  Plott's  before  I  can  have  a  tent  sent  over  from 
the  city.  Thanks  for  your  cordial  reception,  Mr. 
Simms." 

His  real  "business"  unbroached,  he  left  the  store. 
Fractious  as  were  certain  of  his  sensibilities  over  the 
failure  of  his  errand,  others  were  diverted.  Did 
they  think  him  a  yeggman,  a  jail-bird,  or  what? 
Had  Tobe  Riker  preceded  his  passenger  to  the  vil- 
lage court  of  appeals  to  protect  his  own  heart  in- 
terest? Or  could  it  be  that  Vernaluska  Metcalf 
herself  had  turned  down  those  long,  strong  thumbs 
of  hers  at  the  calico  counter  before  King  Currie  had 
appeared  to  "rile"  her  Into  that  wonderful  smile? 

He  was  about  to  repass  the  dried-up  dispensary 
where,  a  short  while  before,  he  had  awakened  Cot- 
ton Eye  Lee  and  a  breastful  of  hope,  when  the  light 
burst  upon  him  with  radium  strength.  He  stopped 
short,  began  to  grin,  lifted  his  eyes.  From  out  the 
clear  he  saw  why  he  was  stranger  unwelcome  in 
Dismal  Gap. 


STR.\NGER  UNWELCOME  35 

His  whole  past  life  seemed  to  have  been  but  pref- 
ace to  the  present  moment — this  culminative,  thrill- 
ing, delicious  moment.  He  had  been  reading  a 
book,  at  it  were,  whose  elaborate  preparation  had 
educated  him  up  to  full  enjoyment  of  an  incompara- 
bly humorous  denouement.  Moved  by  a  desire  to 
luxuriate  in  it,  he  strode  to  the  stoop,  worn  down  by 
the  boots  of  thirsty  hillbillies  in  the  wet,  wet  days 
gone,  never  to  return.  There  he  settled,  before 
yielding  to  the  emotion  already  agitating  him. 

Chuckles  began  to  escape  him,  interspersed  with 
ejaculations,  although  there  was  none  to  hear  along 
the  empty  street. 

"I  declare!  I  do  declare!  So  that's  it?  I  get 
the  whole  thing  now — such  an  utterly  funny  thing. 
Me  to  be  taken  for — for  that!  Shades  of  Sylvia 
and  Spence — zihat  would  they  say?" 

In  the  very  onrush  of  his  paroxysms  of  mirth  he 
strangled  them  in  order  the  more  calmly  to  realize 
their  cause. 

He,  Calvin  A.  Parker,  had  been  sent  into  the 
mountains  of  North  Carolina  to  get  beyond  tempta- 
tion. Spencer  Pope,  collector  of  internal  revenue, 
supposed  to  know  the  region,  had  selected  it.  But 
Spencer,  blinded  by  confidence  In  the  enforcement 
of  the  excise  laws,  had  overlooked  a  thing  or  two 
or  three.  In  the  choice  of  an  alleged  bone-dry  ter- 
ritory as  the  stage  of  a  fight  for  abstinence,  he  had 
failed  to  consider  the  possibility  of  an  illicit  liquor 
traffic. 

And  here  were  the  woods  so  full  of  moonshine 
that  he — subject  of  the  experiment — had  at  once 
come  under  the  suspicion  which  had  wronged  so 
many  strangers  before  him,  none   of  whom  could 


36      FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

possibly  have  been  as  Innocent  of  hostile  intent,  as 
kindly  disposed  toward  the  regional  industry  as  he. 
He — "poor  Cal  Parker" — to  be  taken  for  a  revenue 
sleuth  I 

But  anyhow,  anyhow No  diagram  of  his  dis- 
covery, no  tracing  of  its  side-issues  could  expand 
the  delicious  irony  of  that  first  perception.  There 
was  he,  wreck  of  a  great  name,  ruin  of  a  career,  sent 
into  the  hills  to  forget  "the  curse";  and  here  had 
he  walked,  straight  as  though  following  a  call,  into 
its  birth-place,  where  it  best  might  be  remembered. 
His  dear,  delightful  curse  1 

What  a  joke — what  a  joke — on  Sylvia  and  Spen- 
cer back  in  old  New  York;  on  Tobe  Riker  and  Asa 
Simms  and  Rex  Currie ;  on  all  the  Red-Blue  Ridgers 
here  at  hand. 

And  what  a  game  had  been  given  him  to  play  I 
The  dire  suspicion  that  he  was  an  official  fighter 
of  the  demon  he  had  blindly  served — he  must  not 
disturb  that,  since  its  hazard  was  the  quip.  Would 
he  play?  Well,  now!  Even  without  his  desire  to 
perpetuate  on  canvas  a  really  vital  smile,  the  pros- 
pect captivated  him. 

His  chuckles  developed  until  he  held  both  sides 
with  his  hands  In  an  effort  to  control  them.  Next 
breath,  giving  up  to  the  irresistible,  he  began  to 
rock  back  and  forth. 

"Ha,  ha,  ha!"  escaped  him  In  mezzo  voce;  then: 
*'Ho,  ho!"  In  bass. 

He  laughed  and  laughed — ^until  he  held  on  to  the 
floor.  More  and  more  regardless  rose  his  voice, 
quite  as  though  he  were  alone  in  the  village. 

"Well,  stranger,  you  seem  to  be  enjoying  your- 
self!" 


STRANGER  UNWELCOME  37 

It  was  a  voice  he  had  heard  somewhere  before, 
a  strong,  humorous,  yet  caustic  voice,  that  put  the 
silencer  upon  Parker's  risibihties.  Opening  his  eyes 
he  perceived  a  long  shadow  before  him;  lifting  them, 
he  saw  Rex  Currie  standing  in  the  road,  interestedly 
regarding  him. 

*'Oh,  how  do  you  do?  I — I  am."  Parker 
smoothed  out  his  features,  struggled  for  coherence. 
*'You — you  know,  I  can  see  a  joke  when  it's  poked 
right  at  me." 

*'So  can  I,"  offered  Currie,  still  eying  him. 

*'I  thought  you  were  in  such  a  hurry  to  go  home 
with  the  girl  of  the — with  Miss  Metcalf." 

*'I  was,  but  I  sighted  some  unfinished  business 
that's  delayed  me  a  spell.  Don't  let  me  cork  your 
enjoyment."  The  handsome  suitor  of  the  girl  of 
the  smile  positively  scowled  as  he  added:  "I  reckon 
you're  entitled  to  enjoy  yourself — ivhile  yoii  can!" 

After  which  Impressive  observance  he  nodded, 
started  up  the  street,  disappeared  within  the  em- 
porium of  Asa  Simms. 

^'While  you  canF^  The  echo  jeered  In  the  mind 
of  Calvin  Parker,  again  headed  toward  the  Hotel 
Plott. 

^^YetT*  The  same  emphasis  had  been  given  one 
word  back  In  the  store. 

There  had  been  reason  enough  for  him  to  *'cork" 
his  enjoyment  In  that  he  seldom  felt  like  doing  things 
he  was  told  to  do.  Currie  had  advised  him  to  laugh 
on,  hence  he  had  ceased. 

But  why  should  the  grim  note  In  a  strange  coun- 
tryman's voice  blunt  the  point  of  the  joke — his  In- 
comparable joke? 


CHAPTER  IV 

GLORY   be! 

At  the  house  of  Plott,  down  the  street,  ''she*'  had 
returned  from  her  mission,  as  Parker  was  appraised 
before  he  had  opportunity  to  turn  the  knob  of  the 
front  door.  Scarcely,  indeed,  had  his  foot  lifted  to 
the  porch  level  when  the  portal  threw  open  and  a 
wisp-woman  in  black  and  white — homespun  black  of 
dress,  starched  white  of  collar  and  cuffs — rushed  at 
him. 

Of  her  Identity  there  could  be  no  doubt.  Her  cor- 
dial, outstretched  hands,  the  lack  of  reservation  in 
her  smile,  the  beam  of  her  brown  eyes  behind  sil- 
ver-rimmed spectacles — all  would  have  proclaimed 
her  one  of  the  ''aunts"  of  the  world.  And  when 
she  spoke,  the  name  "Hootie"  fitted,  no  matter  what 
its  derivation  or  acquired  meaning. 

"Welcome,  friend  Parker!"  she  exclaimed. 

Her  voice  was  peculiar — Southern-soft,  yet  high- 
pitched — a  sort  of  muffled  staccato. 

"After  looking  forward  to  your  arrival  so  anx- 
iously," she  continued,  "it  seems  too  bad  that  I  could 
not  have  been  here  to  greet  you.  Many  as  are 
Hezekiah's  virtues,  he  sometimes  fails  in  cordiality. 
Of  course,  poor  man,  it's  only  natural  that  his  pro- 
fession should  harden  him  to  the  finer  feelings  of 
others.  But,  whatever  comes,  we're  both  on  your 
side,  which  is  the  right  side,  glory  be  !'* 


GLORY  BE!  39 

On  the  printed  page,  these  remarks  are  punctuated 
according  to  custom;  as  Mrs.  Plott  delivered  them, 
they  were  hooted  without  a  pause. 

Parker  could  have  found  no  place  to  interrupt, 
even  had  he  wished  to  do  so.  In  truth,  his  mind  was 
fully  engaged  with  the  jig-saw  puzzle  her  words  pre- 
sented— the  "friend  Parker"  of  her  opening,  the  dec- 
laration that  she  had  been  expecting  him,  the  refer- 
ence to  their  companionable  stand  on  the  side  of 
''right."     Glory  be — that  expressed  it. 

"I — I  fear  there  has  been  some  mistake,"  he  in- 
terpolated when  able. 

Reproach  entered,  but  did  not  mar  the  gracious- 
ness  of  her  expression. 

*'I  reckon  it  is  short  notice  to  expect  you  to  trust 
me,  but  you  don't  look  like  a  person  slow  at  learning. 
Time  is  all-important  and " 

*'But  I  could  not  have  been  expected,"  he  was  so 
successful  as  to  interrupt,  "and  I  never  take  sides 
when  any  one  but  myself  is  concerned.  Certainly  I 
can't  lay  claim  to  virtues  which " 

"Oh,  you  jewel — you  jewel!  He  wouldn't  for 
anything  let  his  right  hand  know,  would  he,  now?" 

Her  manner  was  nothing  short  of  rapturous. 
Clamping  his  arm  with  a  grip  that  was  violence  as 
contrasted  with  her  bird  claw  of  a  hand,  she  propel- 
led him  across  the  porch  and  through  the  doorway 
into  the  hall. 

"Let  my  right  know?'*  he  muttered,  rather  stu- 
pidly, en  route, 

"Oh,  you  jewel!"  she  hooted.  "Now  don't  you 
say  another  word !  Pve  got  a-plenty  more  than  five 
senses,  and  I  understand — understand  to  the  fullest 
degree.   You're  just  what  I  prayed  you'd  be.  You're 


40      FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

deep,  but  I  see  down  Into  you.  I  see  victory  ahead 
if  only  you  won't  be  too  drastic  at  the  start.  You've 
got  to  promise  your  Aunt  Hootle  right  here  and  now 
that  you'll  be  mighty  careful." 

That  warning  again! 

*'Madam,"  he  began  in  as  sane  and  commonplace 
a  manner  as  he  could  command,  "your  advice  is  the 
third  such  I  have  received  since  my  arrival  in  Dis- 
mal Gap  a  couple  of  hours  ago;  may  I  so  far  tres- 
pass upon  your  kindness  as  to  inquire  why  and  of 
just  what  I  should  be  careful?" 

"Superb  !  You  sure  enough  will  fill  the  bill.  The 
set  of  your  jaw  foretells  the  end.  You'll  win  your 
fight." 

These  ejaculations  were  backward-flung,  as  the 
little  lady  tripped  along  the  hall  toward  that  "best 
room"  door. 

Parker  followed,  but  not  until  he  had  directed 
the  inquiring  look  of  one  man  just  meeting  another 
into  his  reflection  in  the  small  hat-rack  mirror. 

Back  in  the  room  that  was  temporarily  his  own 
by  right  of  rental,  he  listened  to  her  from  the  perch 
she  had  selected  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  with  the 
growing  conviction  that  the  face  he  had  seen  in  the 
mirror  was  a  strange  one. 

"I've  tidied  things  up  as  best  I  might.  As  I  said 
to  Hezekiah,  we  can't  do  too  much  for  a  young  man 
who  is  taking  his  very  life  in  his  hands.  At  least 
you  will  have  the  bulwark  of  our  prayers  and  all 
the  encouragement  of  our  loyal  hearts,  which  may 
help  a  little,  even  though  a  fight  in  behalf  of  right 
is  always  its  own  best  reward." 

Parker  slumped  into  a  rocking-chair.  Stretching 
open  his  large  palms,  he  examined  their  emptiness 


GLORY  BE!  41 

curiously.  Just  what  they  had  told  him  at  home — 
his  hfe,  his  future  he  must  take  into  his  own  hands. 
Just  what  Sylvia  had  told  him  at  the  last  meeting, 
although  couched  In  different  words — that  the  most 
earnest  well-wishes  of  her  heart  would  go  with  him, 
but  that  his  victory  must  needs  be  his  reward,  since 
he  had  proved  to  their  world  that  she  was  not 
enough.  He  must  fight  out  his  fight  in  new  scenes, 
alone;  that  was  what  they  all  had  agreed. 

Yet  what  could  this  wisp-woman  know  about  It? 
Never,  except  that  last  awful  once,  had  he  brooked 
discussion  of  his — well,  his  peculiarity. 

He  straightened  in  his  seat,  gazed  across  at 
her. 

**I  fear  you're  suffering  some  misapprehension  as 
to  my  Identity,  Mrs.  Plott.  I'm  just  a  more-or-less 
Inoffensive  citizen,  visiting  the  Blue  Ridge  for  the 
first  time  in  my  life  on  business  which  concerns  none 
but  myself.  Dismal  Gap  happened  to  be  recom- 
mended to  me  by  a  friend  named  Pope,  because 
he " 

"Pope — Spencer  Pope?    I  hoped  It — I  knew  It!" 

Her  state  of  ecstasy  seemed  to  have  reached  a 
superlative  degree.  She  clasped  thin  arms  across 
a  thin  chest  and  hugged  herself,  her  brown  eyes  held 
dotingly  on  him  the  while. 

Parker's  small  accession  of  dignity  deserted,  leav- 
ing him  with  a  helpless  feeling.  "You — you  know 
Spencer?" 

^^Knozv  him?  Didn't  he  board  with  us  for  months 
over  at  Killpeter  Cove,  when  Hezekiah  and  I  first 
came  down  from  Virginia,  looking  for  a  cavity — a 
dental  opening?" 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,"  queried  Parker  In 


42      FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

turn,  *'that  Pope  has  written  you — told  you  that 
I  was  coming,  and  w^hy?" 

The  brown-gray  head  wagged  slyly.  "It  Is  enough 
to  know  that  he  sent  you — enough  for  any  of  us 
stalwart  drys !" 

She  favored  him  with  a  confidential  smile.  Addi- 
tionally, one  of  her  eyelids  fluttered  downward  in 
what  looked  very  like  a  wink  of  reassurance. 

To  Parker  there  came  a  new  conviction.  She,  too, 
believed  him  a  revenue  sleuth! 

*'DId  you,"  she  asked,  with  Intentional  Irrelevance, 
"take  to  Hezeklah?  There  is  a  man  for  you! 
^Strength  of  the  Lord'  is  what  his  name  means,  and 
never  in  all  our  married  years  has  he  been  daunted 
by  the  stubbornest  root  set  In  human  gums,  no  more 
than  he  has  so  far  capitulated  to  the  Demon  Rum 
as  to  let  a  drop  of  intoxicating  liquor  pass  his 
lips." 

"How  unfortunate  that  all  men  have  not  Hez- 
eklah's  advantages!"  Reduced  to  flattery  in  the 
emergency,  Parker  focused  upon  her  his  peculiarly 
winning  smile.  "A  woman  of  your  sort  must — must 
change  a  man  vastly." 

"In  your  case,"  she  added,  "I  appreciate  a  differ- 
ence. Hezeklah  needs  nerve,  to  be  sure,  jerking 
teeth;  but  you  need  nerve  of  a  different  sort,  bat- 
tling for  the  right  with  these  blockaders.  What 
with  all  that's  ahead  of  you,  with  the  necessity  of 
absolute  self-control,  with  one  emergency  close  after 
the  one  that's  gone  before — well,  I  believe  you  ought 
to  be  allowed  anything  that  helps  you.  In  you  I 
could  even  excuse  the  occasional  use  of  a  drop  or 
two  of  alcoholic  spirits — of  course,  for  medicinal 
purposes  only — to  strengthen  those  poor  nerves  of 


GLORY  BE!  43 

yours,  which  must  be  frazzled  at  times,  the  life  you 
lead." 

No  matter  how  much  the  little  woman  was  mis- 
taken in  him,  she  spoke  truly.  His  nerves  were 
frazzled — and  from  the  life  he  had  led!  Could  he 
convince  her  of  this?  Dared  he  put  her  broad- 
mindedness  to  an  immediate  test? 

*'If  it  weren't  for  our  nerves,  life  would  be  a 
different  sort  of  thing,  wouldn't  it?"  he  began,  al- 
lowing his  smile  to  deepen,  to  quiver,  as  if  strug- 
gling to  survive  against  odds.  He  grasped  the  sup- 
port of  the  rocker  arms.  "You  may  have  heard  how 
I  was  dumped  off  the  stage  to-day.  I'm  ashamed  of 
the  way  I  feel,  but  I'm  not  overly  strong  and  I — 1 
have  had  a  most  trying " 

His  voice  dwindled;  his  eyes  closed;  he  looked 
overcome. 

Aunt  Hootie  sped  to  him,  seized  and  began  to 
chafe  his  hands,  demonstrated  anew  the  appropriate- 
ness of  her  title. 

"You  poor  boy — you  poor,  brave  boy!"  she  ex- 
claimed. "You  must  lie  flat  and  get  rested  up.  And 
you  need  something  to  brace  you.  Would  you  now 
— do  you  think  a  little  sip  of  spirits — just  a  thim- 
bleful— y/ould  strengthen  you?" 

Parker  shrank  back,  as  if  to  ward  off  a  re- 
pugnant suggestion.  Then :  "It — it  might,"  he  ad- 
mitted. 

She  hastened  away.  He  kept  his  eyes  closed  until 
he  heard  her  in  the  hall,  opened  them  to  gaze  around 
him  dazedly. 

Was  he  dreaming  some  bright  dream?  Or  was 
it  true  that  the  despairing  demands  of  the  comp- 
troller within  were  about  to  be  supplied  from  the 


44      FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

very  least  likely  source?  He  moistened  his  parched 
lips  in  anticipation. 

Canceled  were  the  obligations  he  had  acknowl- 
edged to  Sylvia,  the  vows  he  had  made  to  her  and 
Spencer  Pope  after  that  last,  humiliating  night  In 
New  York.  What  was  a  fellow's  obligation  toward 
others,  compared  with  that  toward  himself? 

Exorcised  was  the  spirit  that  had  incited  him 
to  fling  from  a  Pullman  window  the  half-emptied 
flask  which  Spencer  mercifully  had  slipped  him  at 
the  last.  What  was  any  new  resolve  compared  to 
the  screaming  need  of  all  past  years? 

Total  abstinence  was  not  a  man's  vow,  ran  his 
mental  argument.  It  was  an  acknowledgment  of 
weakness  rather  than  of  strength.  He  would  work 
out  his  own  salvation,  yes;  but  work  it  out  according 
to  deep-deduced  theories  of  his  own.  Wine  was 
good  and  meant  for  the  use  of  mankind,  just  as 
were  other  fruits  of  the  earth.  He  would  learn  its 
proper  usage,  would  learn  control.  He  would  parse 
for  Spencer  and  Sylvia  the  meaning  of  the  word 
temperance.  What  was  there  In  life  If  one  might 
not  have  his  cake  and  nibble  at  It,  too? 

She  was  returning,  Aunt  Hootle.  Her  light, 
decisive  footsteps  were  loudening  toward  him  from 
the  hall.  His  spirits  chirked  up  at  the  sound;  a  great 
affection  for  her  was  prematurely  born.  Dear, 
quaint,  kind  Aunt  Hootle — to  think  that  she  of  all 
the  world  should  be  the  self-elected  pharmacist  to 
revise  the  prescription  especially  written  for  him! 

His  eyes  were  again  closed  as  she  hurried  to  him, 
but  closed  over  exultation.  In  one  glance  he  had 
seen  and  measured  the  bottle  she  carried — a  pint 
container,  or  he  never  had  emptied  one — nearly  full 


GLORY  BE  I  45 

of  red-brown  liquid.  His  hands  wavered  toward 
her,  in  one  the  wash-stand  tumbler,  of  which  he  had 
possessed  himself.     But i 

"Better  let  me  pour  it,  friend  Parker.  How  many 
drops?" 

Horrified,  he  heard  her  question.  His  lids  flashed 
up  over  eyes  swimming  in  the  moisture  of  unfeigned 
agony.  He  saw  that  she  held  in  her  other  hand  an 
eye-cup  half  full  of  water  and  a  medicine  dropper. 
He  groaned  aloud  as  he  sank,  limp  and  despairing, 
back  into  the  chair.  The  tumbler  fell  w^ith  a  small 
crash  to  the  floor. 

Although  far  from  a  ruse  on  his  part,  this  dem- 
onstration had  a  magical  effect  upon  the  nurse  of 
medicinal  intent.  She  proved  herself  an  advocate 
of  heroic  treatment.  Flitting  to  the  wash-stand, 
she  laid  down  the  dropper,  emptied  into  the  pitcher 
the  water  from  the  eye-cup,  poured  it  full  of  un- 
diluted whisky,,  forced  It  to  the  lips  of  him  In  so 
pitiful  a  state  of  collapse. 

"Poor,  brave  boy — you  sure  do  need  the  medi- 
cine!" ; 

Parker  drained  the  draft,  waited  a  few  seconds, 
glanced  up  at  her  with  gratitude  too  vital  for  w^ords. 

No  matter  what  called — "medicine,"  "drops," 
"curse" — the  liquor  she  had  supplied  was  beyond 
criticism,  even  from  him.  It  was  mellow,  dynamic, 
smooth.     It  aroused  the  necessity  for  more. 

"I — I  seem  to  be  coming  'round,"  he  faltered. 
"You  are  very  good  to  me.  So  sorry  to  worry  you. 
That  spilx  from  the  stage  must  have  jolted  me  worse 
than  I  realized.  Perhaps  if  I  forced  down  another, 
I— I " 

An  Imperative  knocK  on  the  front  door  sounded. 


46       FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

In  the  act  of  measuring  him  a  second  dose,  Aunt 
Hootie  paused.  She  glanced  at  him  anxiously, 
handed  him  both  cup  and  bottle,  hurried  into  the 
hall. 

On  her  return  she  must  have  seen  that  he  had 
not  suffered  from  her  enforced  neglect.  Relief,  per- 
haps, blinded  her  to  the  fact  that  the  liquid  for 
medicinal  purposes  only,  whose  bottle  now  stood 
upon  the  wash-hand-stand,  had  lost  the  red-brown 
richness  of  its  color.  Rather,  it  was  a  pale,  trans- 
lucent amber. 

"If  you  feel  well  enough *'     She  hesitated, 

one  hand  held  behind  her.  *'It  seems  very  strange 
that  we  heard  the  knock,  but  not  any  steps  on  the 
stoop.  Not  a  soul  was  there  when  I  opened.  I 
found  this  tucked  under  the  sill — a  letter  addressed 
to  you.'* 

The  incident  did  seem  strange,  even  before  he 
tore  open  the  flap.  *'Mr.  C.  A.  Parker,  Care  of  His 
Friends,'*  was  scrawled  across  the  envelope.  After 
he  had  read  the  contents  once  to  himself,  he  reread 
them  aloud: 

"C.  A.  Parker,  New  York. 

"Sir:  We  know  you.  The  stage  leaves  for  the  railroad 
at  3  P.M.  A  word  is  supposed  to  be  sufficient  to  the  wise. 
You  ain't  wise,  so  we  write  you  several.  Unless  you  hanker 
to  ride  out  in  a  box,  youll  heed  them. 

"Folks  That  Say  What  They  Mean 
AND  Mean  What  They  Say." 

When  Parker  glanced  up,  he  saw  tha'  a  look  of 
positive  terror  was  distorting  Mrs.  Plott's  face. 
Both  hands  were  clawed  into  the  neat  white  collar 
at  her  throat. 


GLORY  BE!  47 

*'A11,  all  is  lost!"  she  cried.  "They  have  recog- 
nized you." 

"Everybody  seems  to  have  recognized  me  except 
myself." 

He  achieved  his  feet  and  gazed  around  uncertain- 
ly, as  if  returned  by  the  note  to  his  "frazzled"  state. 

"Undoubtedly  they  are  aware  of  your  mission." 

"In  that,  too,  they  have  the  advantage  over  me." 

She  began  to  hurry  about  the  room. 

"A  terrible  advantage — that  is  certainly  so !"  she 
exclaimed,  ignoring  what  evidently  she  regarded  as 
camouflage.  "They  mean  to  do  you  up  unless  you 
go  at  once.  Far  be  it  from  us  to  add  another  victim 
to  the  score !  That  clock  is  right — I  set  it  this  A.M. 
It  is  ten  of  three  now.  Here,  I'll  help  you  pack! 
It  will  be  all  you  can  do  to  make  the  stage." 

Parker  seemed  to  be  estimating  the  value  of  lug- 
gage against  that  of  life. 

"All  I  can  do,  //  I  pack.  But  why  take  unneces- 
sary risks?  Three,  you  say?  I — I  guess  I  won^t 
wait!" 

Suddenly  bereft  of  audience,  the  little  lady  stood 
gaping  in  the  direction  of  his  sudden  disappearance, 
hooting  mentally  and  regretfully. 

What  a  shame  it  was — and  he  had  looked  such 
a  jewel!  Yet  she  couldn't  blame  any  one  fleeing 
those  liquor-maddened  fiends  of  hell.  Would  the 
drys  never  be  able  to  stifle  the  deadly  fumes?  Poor 
boy,  he  sure  was  a  wreck  from  the  life  he  had  led! 
She  had  best  be  packing  up  his  traps ;  he  would  likely 
mail  her  an  address.    What  a  narrow  escape ! 


CHAPTER  Y 

DEPARTURE   DELAYED 

'Repairs  to  the  faulty  axle  of  the  Concord  relic 
had  been  rushed  by  the  village  smith;  so  that,  on  the 
stroke  of  three,  the  stage  driver  pulled  up  with  a 
flourish  before  the  post-office  and  general  store. 
The  lean  mail-bag  tossed  him  by  Asa  Simms  he 
stowed  beneath  the  box  and  reached  for  the  whip, 
in  preparation  for  a  dashing  start  on  his  return 
trip. 

*'Hold  your  bosses,  Tobe !"  The  advice  came 
from  Rex  Currie  who  stood,  magnificently  indolent, 
leaning  against  a  post  of  the  high  porch.  "I've  got 
an  idea  you  needn't  be  lonesome  on  the  back-drive.*' 

The  little  whip  showed  both  surprise  and  impa- 
tience. After  the  super-effort  of  himself  and  the 
smithy,  it  seemed  a  shame  to  be  delayed.  But  he 
wound  the  reins  around  the  whip-stock,  flopped  his 
legs  over  the  end  of  the  seat,  severed  a  generous  quid 
from  a  black  square  of  plug. 

"You-uns  don't  be  meaning  the  same  dude  I  brung 
out?"  he  asked,  his  "chaw"  well  under  way. 

Currie  nodded. 

"The  identical  dude.  Cotton  Eye  ought  to  be 
back  any  minute  now  from  delivering  him  an  invite 
to  repair  at  once  to  a  party  at  Anywheres-Else.  Un- 
less I  miss  a  guess,  we-all  will  be  favored  before 
long  by  the  sight  of  him  making  going-away-from- 

48 


DEPARTURE  DELAYED  49 

here  signals.  Asa  and  the  rest  of  us  won't  be  dis- 
gusted none  If  you  spread  thick  your  remarks  to  him 
about  what  a  plumb  desperate  population  lives 
around  the  Gap." 

*'You-all  can  count  on  me,  I  reckon." 

Riker's  assurance  was  what  had  been  expected 
of  him.  In  his  general  utility  vocation,  he  had  tried 
to  assume  neutrality  between  the  factions  which  had 
long  been  reaching  for  each  other's  throats;  but  at 
heart,  both  from  inclination  and  practice,  he  was 
known  by  the  wets  to  be  one  of  them. 

Provided  with  his  orders  and  his  audience  of 
one,  he  might  be  relied  upon,  unhampered  by  con- 
scientious scruples,  to  depict  the  fate  of  a  prying 
foreigner  as  desperate  Indeed.  Since  the  drys,  sing- 
ing hymns  of  victory,  had  swept  the  State  with  their 
official  ban  against  intoxicants  In  any  form,  the  dis- 
tillers and  distributers  of  contrabrand  had  been  hard 
put — that  Tobe  knew  as  well  as  they.  Before  the 
"bone,"  their  traffic  had  been  IlHcit  only  against  the 
Federal  law.  Now  they  were  criminals  in  the  eyes 
also  of  the  State,  forced  to  *Vatch  both  ways  to 
onct,"  as  old  Tom  Metcalf  put  it  when  railing 
against  the  signs  of  the  time. 

Prohibitlonal  progress,  however,  was  not  without 
Its  advantages,  even  to  the  wets.  ^'Outside  liquor," 
in  which  the  Federal  government  had  lost  Interest 
on  payment  of  the  revenue  tax,  was  now  a  common- 
wealth "outlaw,"  expensive  when  it  could  be  had  at 
all.  Inside,  or  "domestic  dew,"  therefore,  was  in 
greater  demand  than  before  and,  by  natural  law,  its 
under-cover  market  price  higher.  Blockading  prom- 
ised increasingly  lucrative  returns,  could  the  Indus^ 
try  but  survive  the  double  hazard. 


so       FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

That  It  should  survive  was  exactly  what  the  drys 
of  Dismal  Gap,  backed  by  their  State  and  National 
societies,  were  determined  against.  Local  bitterness 
had  festered  Into  a  sore.  Long  since,  members  of 
the  two  sides  had  ceased  to  be  on  speaking  terms, 
except  to  bandy  threats.  Any  moment  might  break 
out  a  contagion  of  violence. 

To  the  arguments  of  Rex  Currle  and  SImms,  Tobe 
bowed  perforce.  Hadn't  certain  sisters  of  the  dry 
battalion  unwisely  divulged  that  a  revenuer  was  ex- 
pected soon?  Hadn't  the  day's  arrival  gone  straight 
to  the  house  of  Plott — ^the  fact  made  none  the  less 
significant  by  Tobe's  recommendation  of  that  "only" 
hotel?  Hadn't  his  first  move  on  reappearing  on 
Trade  Street  been  to  quiz  a  negro  as  to  where  he 
might  buy  liquor?  Hadn't  his  answers  to  Asa  SImms 
been  downright  unsubstantial?  As  for  the  laughing 
fit  which  Rex  had  Interrupted,  how  else  could  that 
be  Interpreted  than  as  exultation  over  anticipated 
victory? 

The  case  seemed  conclusive.  Undoubtedly  the 
"dude"  was  the  oflicer  expected,  even  though  his 
cock-sure  ways  and  antiquated  subterfuge  of  a  mis- 
sion in  the  name  of  "art"  were  not  exactly  compli- 
mentary either  to  his  Intelligence  or  theirs.  He  de- 
served the  "Invite"  to  leave  for  "Anywheres-Else" 
which  Rex  Currle,  his  natural  animosity  fired  by  a 
certain  Titian  flare,  had  written  so  immediately  and 
so  well. 

From  within  the  store  Cotton  Eye  Lee  now  shuf- 
fled. 

"I've  done  earned  that  swiggle  according  to  in- 
structificatlons,  boss,"  he  announced.  "I  slips  the 
communicant  under  the  door,  knocks  good  and  loud, 


DEPARTURE  DELAYED  51 

then    ducks    under    the    porch    for    a    hide-out." 

"Are  you  sure  they  heard  you?"  rasped  Slmms. 

*'Sure,  gen'l.  By  identification  of  both  eyes,  don't 
I  see  Mis'  Plott  herself  take  in  the  doo-billy?  And 
don't  I  come  back-way  to  this  here  oasis  with  my 

tongue  rusty-eating  for  that  there Oh,  Lord! 

Oh,  oh.  Lord!" 

Up  the  road  and  coming  toward  them,  his  mis- 
mated  eyes  had  sighted  the  ponderous  figure  of  Colo- 
nel "Dry"  Dryden,  acknowledged  leader  of  the  Pro- 
hibs  and  present  employer  of  his  next-to-worthless 
self.  One  bound  gained  him  the  cover  of  the  store- 
room, whose  back  door  provided  a  short-cut  to  the 
Dryden  place  on  the  hill  and  the  field  in  which  he 
was  supposed  to  be  at  work. 

The  unceremonious  departure  of  their  black  emis- 
sary in  nowise  disturbed  the  three  before  the  Simms 
emporium,  but  the  near  approach  of  their  most  pow- 
erful opponent  did. 

Rex  Currie's  habit  of  leadership  it  was  that  met 
the  emergency. 

"Old  Dry's  headed  for  Plott's,  and  he'll  stop  the 
slick  going  out,"  he  declared.  "He  mustn't  get  that 
far.  The  only  neutral  here  assembled  is  you,  Tobe; 
see  you  turn  him  back!" 

The  wit  of  the  small  driver  proved  large. 

"Howdy,  colonel!  Howdy!"  called  he.  "I  just 
rid  in  a  passenger  what  was  a-looking  for  you-all. 
Sent  him  up  yon  way,  without  an  idee  you'd  be 
coming  down  this  here  one.  Hope  he  ain't  got  lost. 
Mighty  sorry.  Colonel." 

"I'm  obliged  to  you,  suh,  just  the  same,"  returned 
Dryden,  a  pronouncedly  Southern  personage,  from 
well-shod  feet  to  grizzled  goatee.     "I  was  expecting 


52       FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

a  visitor,  but  thought  he  must  be  delayed.  I'll 
take  the  trail  home;  likely  I'll  find  him  already 
there." 

Without  deigning  a  glance  toward  the  two  be- 
nighted wets  on  the  porch,  although  proved  the 
keener  to  their  presence  on  that  account,  the  leader 
of  the  drys  started  on  the  back  road. 

"Right  neat,  Tobe.  I'm  obliged  to  you,  suh,'* 
mimicked  Currie,  adding,  after  a  glance  down  the 
street:  "And  In  the  last  tick  of  time  you  were. 
Look!" 

Parker  was  hurrying  toward  them,  as  If  afraid 
he  might  be  too  late.  Sighting  the  stage,  his  pace 
slowed. 

"I'm  a-walting  for  you-uns;  climb  right  up  !"  The 
driver's  greeting  was  embellished  by  a  leathery  leer. 
"I  sure  admire  to  have  company,  and  swear  not  to 
chuck  you  Into  a  nary  ditch  this  time." 

Well  it  was  that  Currie  and  Simms  wore  their 
"poker  faces" ;  they  needed  the  protection  on  hearing 
the  "slick's"  reply. 

"Decent  of  you  to  wait,  Riker,  but  I'm  not  leav- 
ing to-day." 

"What — ^you  going  to  leave  me  to  the  company  of 
just  boss  flies?"  complained  the  wily  whip. 

"Sorry  to  deprive  you — or  any  one  who  wants  It — 
of  my  company;  but  I've  sighted  some  unfinished 
business." 

Although  Parker  did  not  glance  at  the  originator 
of  his  phrase,  the  hillbilly  eased  himself  ofi  the  stoop 
and  picked  up  a  short  length  of  rope  which  lay  upon 
the  ground,  as  though  moved  to  some  sort  of  action 
by  embarrassment. 

"Ain't  you   forgetting,   Asa,"   he  reminded  the 


DEPARTURE  DELAYED  53 

emporium's  owner,  *'that  blanket  you  promised  to 
send  down  to  the  Corners  by  Tobe?" 

SImms,  still  on  the  high  stoop,  looked  his  per- 
plexity for  a  moment;  the  next  his  cadaverous  face 
lighted. 

"Holy  hemlock,  I'd  forgotten  entire !"  he;  ex- 
claimed with  unwonted  animation.  "Wait  a  half- 
second  longer,  Tobe." 

He  sHthered  into  the  store. 

Parker,  meantime,  had  recognized  the  hillbilly's 
presence  with  a  friendly  nod.  "Since  Riker  is  good 
enough  to  say  my  not  going  Is  a  loss,  may  I  hope 
that  you  consider  my  staying  a  gain?  We  have  so 
much  in  common,  you  and  I,  we  ought  to  get  along 
splendidly." 

"In  common?" 

Currle  flashed  him  a  revealing  look.  His  instant 
thought  of  the  mountain  girl — his  suspicion  that  she 
was  being  referred  to — showed  in  the  color  that 
spread  forward  from  his  stiff-set  neck. 

"Why,  yes,"  Parker  explained.  "Although  so 
lately  Introduced,  we  have  seen  that  we  both  appre- 
ciate an  amusing  situation,  haven't  we?  And  we 
both  have  found  unfinished  business  in  Dismal  Gap." 

"It  ain't  any  dusting  of  salt  to  me,  stranger,  what 
that  business  of  yours  Is  or  Isn't,  so  I  can't  see  that 
It's  a  comman  interest."  Currle  stepped  negligently 
forward  as  he  spoke,  the  while  winding  the  rope  in 
a  loose  coil  in  the  abstracted  way  of  one  given  to 
neatness.  "Howsomever,  leaving  me  out  of  it,  you 
had  best  not  count  on  being  pestered  to  a  frazzle 
with  the  glad  mit  hereabouts." 

"And  you're  worried  about  me?'*  Parker  asked, 
backing  toward  the  stoop,  the  fingers  of  one  hand 


54       FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

entering  his  side  knicker-pocket  in  search  of  the 
clasp-knife  usually  carried  there.  "I  must  say  that's 
good  of  you,  old  fellow,  but  it  is  quite  unnecessary. 
I've  had  some  experience  being  unwelcome,  as  it 
happens,  even  before " 

Parker  never  finished  his  remark. 

At  the  moment  something  soft,  thick,  outspread, 
dropped  over  his  head  from  the  stoop.  With  a  lit- 
erally smothered  curse  for  his  stupidity,  he  realized 
that,  although  on  guard  against  the  rope,  he  had 
overlooked  as  a  menace  that  blanket  to  be  sent  to 
the  Corners.  Asa  Simms  must  have  cat-footed  it 
back  from  his  draft  upon  the  emporium  shelves. 
Parker  had  become  a  six-foot  center  pole  for  an 
improvised  tent. 

Before  he  could  shake  off  the  cloying  folds,  both 
Simms  and  Currie  were  on  him.  In  a  flash  the  rope 
wrapped  his  arms  so  tight  against  his  sides  that  the 
pocket  knife  in  his  fingers  was  useless.  Although  he 
struggled  like  a  trapped  animal,  the  twain  were  too 
much  for  his  body,  if  not  for  his  mind.  Thought, 
Instinct,  inspiration  caused  him  to  expand  his 
chest  and  abdomen  against  the  tightening  of  his 
bonds. 

It  was  characteristic  of  Cal  Parker  that  he  did 
not  waste  himself  crying  for  help  which  was  un- 
likely to  be  forthcoming;  never  had  he  taken  the 
vicissitudes  of  life  that  way.  And  always  he  held 
himself  receptive  of  new  sensations.  He  did  not, 
therefore,  miscount  when  four  hands  seized  him,  nor 
miss  the  fact  that  the  strength  of  two  men  was  united 
in  one  cause  to  hurl  him  violently  Into  the  body  of 
the  ancient  vehicle. 

He  heard  the  door  slam  and  a  shout  from  Currie: 


DEPARTURE  DELAYED  55 

"An  extra  bundle  needn't  delay  you  none,  Tobe. 
Dump  it  at  the  railroad.     On  your  way!'* 

The  whip  cracked,  the  grays  sprang  into  a  gallop, 
the  coach  began  to  race  through  the  Gap's  one  street. 
To  an  outside  observer,  it  would  have  looked  indeed 
as  though  Mr.  C.  A.  Parker,  so  lately  from  New 
York,  were  somewhat  hurriedly  quitting  the  Blue 
Ridge. 

But  Parker's  chest  expansion  was  considerable. 
On  exhaling  his  precautionary  intake  of  breath,  he 
was  able  to  work  his  hand  upward  and  locate  the 
catch  of  the  door. 

Except  for  the  hoof  clatter  and  rattle  of  wheels, 
Tobe  Riker,  on  the  box,  must  have  heard  the  thud 
of  something  heavy  on  the  road.  As  it  was,  how- 
ever, not  until  he  reached  his  destination  did  he 
realize  that  the  "bundle"  entrusted  to  his  care  had 
delivered  itself.  His  chagrin  was  increased  next 
day  when  he  learned  the  immediateness  with  which 
Initiative  had  animated  It. 

Directly  before  the  Hotel  Plott  a  blanket-covered 
ball  lay  in  the  road.  On  recovery  from  the  back- 
to-dust  impact.  It  began  to  unwrap,  straightened  into 
he-man  length,  developed  feet  and  the  apparent  de- 
sire to  make  them  Its  base. 

By  the  time  Aunt  Hootle,  having  lifted  her  eyes 
from  her  packing  at  the  noise,  rushed  out  on  In- 
vestigation bent,  a  knife-blade  from  within  had 
slashed  upward  through  the  blanket.  When  there 
appeared  a  perturbed-looking  fedora,  still  atop  the 
surprisingly  unperturbed  face  of  "the  poor,  brave 
boy"  whom  she  had  been  mourning  as  lost  to  the 
cause 

"Glory  be  !"  she  exclaimed  fervently. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE   CONSPIRATORS 

It  was  a  good  thing,  as  the  evening  turned  out, 
that  the  Dust  Dry  League,  In  secret  session  assem- 
bled within  the  cave  sacred  to  their  councils,  had 
voted  unanimously  to  table  all  regular  business  and 
give  whole-hearted  attention  to  the  affairs  of  the 
stranger  who,  In  their  midst  at  least,  seemed  not  un- 
welcome. 

Mysteriously  enough,  Calvin  Parker  had  been  in- 
vited to  attend.  "Sociable,"  "meeting,"  "gather- 
ing"— various  terms  which  covered,  rather  than  ex- 
plained the  nature  of  the  event  had  been  appHed  by 
the  Plotts.  And  never,  in  the  whole  course  of  his 
highly  social  and  variegated  past,  had  he  been  intro- 
duced so  ambitiously  as  by  Aunt  Hootle  to  the  half- 
dozen  faithful. 

"Heaven-sent  I"  The  irony  of  the  thing  demand- 
ed instant  control  of  his  voice  and  the  most  benign 
expression  In  his  facial  repertoire. 

Straightway  he  had  found  himself  shaking  hands 
with  one  Colonel  Aloyslus  Dryden,  through  right  of 
leadership  an  undisputed  first,  although  crowded  by 
a  spinster  of  height,  angularity  and  importance,  the 
secretary  of  the  league. 

The  Gap's  one  minister  contributed  a  flabby  grip, 
but  firm  assurance  of  his  "blessing."  A  somewhat 
melancholy  looking  farmer,  his  overly  cheerful  and 

.s6 


THE  CONSPIRATORS  57 

bounteous  good-wife  and  a  moral  of  a  man  referred 
to  affectionately  as  *'a  brand  plucked  from  the  burn- 
ing of  rum,"  completed  the  gatherhig. 

With  surprise  Parker  stared  about  the  natural 
rendezvous  for  sessions  dark  and  deep,  to  which 
he  had  been  conducted  across  lots  and  up  a  twisted 
*'run"  by  the  Plotts,  their  every  step  histful.  The 
tunnel-like  entrance  of  some  dozen  feet  had  bent 
him  double,  but  he  now  stood  In  a  sizable  chamber, 
lighted  by  a  single  kerosene  lamp  upon  a  deal  table, 
and  furnished,  through  virtue  of  several  benches  and 
boxes,  with  a  seating  capacity  of  three  times  their 
number. 

"A  right  neat  hide-out,  don't  you  think?"  hooted 
his  particular  hostess.  "To  think  that  ages  and 
eons  agone  He  should  have  created  this  refuge  for 
us  harassed  Gappers !" 

"And  who  harasses  you?" 

The  little  worthy-worker  upcurved  a  glance  of 
reproach  for  the  superfluity  of  his  question. 

"Who  harassed  you  Into  a  blanket  and  Into  the 
stage  and  into  the  dust  of  Trade  Street  this  very 
afternoon?  We've  tried  the  schoolhouse,  the  church 
and  our  own  hearth-stones  In  turn,  only  to  have  our 
meetings  broke  up,  our  secrets  leak  out,  and  our  best- 
laid  plans  nolle  prossed  Into  the  worst.  Then  the 
colonel  tricked  out  this  cave  that's  on  his  own  land. 
As  I  say,  it  serves  right  neatly  except  In  wet  weather, 
when  It's  sort  of  drippy  for  those  as " 

"For  dry  dusters,"  he  obliged. 

Not  at  all  oppressed  was  Parker  by  the  obliga- 
tion thrust  upon  him.  Although  obvious  from  the 
first,  the  mistake  In  his  Identity  made  by  both  wets 
and  drys  had  been  proclaimed  only  tacitly.    To  both 


58       FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

factions  had  he  asserted  the  truth  about  himself 
and  his  mission,  In  so  far  as  this  concerned  outsiders. 
Since  they  persisted  in  believing  him  a  secretively 
disposed  revenue  officer,  there  to  advance  the  cause 
of  the  United  States  against  illicit  distillation,  surely 
the  joke  was  more  on  them  than  on  him. 

Possible  risks  of  the  false  situation  he  had  been 
given  cause  already  to  consider,  as  at  the  moment 
attested  by  the  pain  of  a  scraped  knee-cap  and 
wrenched  shoulders.  But  always  had  he  rather  liked 
risks.  The  efforts  of  those  certain  four  hands  to 
run  him  out  of  Dismal  Gap  on  the  very  day  of  his 
entrance  had  enlivened  a  period  of  disappointment. 
Further  "harassment"  might  prove  equally  divert- 
ing. 

Only  one  real  interest  had  he  in  forcing  upon  in- 
credulous minds  the  truth  about  himself — and  that 
an  interest  at  variance  with  the  ultimate  object  of  his 
exile.  As  a  suspected  revenuer,  he  need  hope  for  no 
moonshine  beams.  No  boot-legger  would  exchange 
the  "poison"  he  craved  for  his  hands  full  of  jingling 
coin.  The  neediest  blockader  would  scorn  him  en- 
tirely as  a  customer. 

But  philosophy  of  a  reluctant  sort  approved  the 
very  difficulties  of  acquisition.  The  less  he  got,  the 
better  for  him.  The  harder  earned  the  drink,  the 
finer  its  flavor.  The  more  difficult  the  task,  the 
greater  his  strength.  And  how  would  he  prove  his 
own  "orneriness"  if  triumph  came  easily  over  those 
who  had  attempted  to  ship  him  off  in  the  stage  with- 
out consignee? 

His  determination  to  find  some  sort  of  a  refuge 
for  himself  well  back  in  the  mountains  had  been  only 
reenforced  by  Asa  Simm's  denial  of  any  vacancy, 


THE  CONSPIRATORS  59 

and  was  directly  responsible  for  his  presence  at  to- 
night's secret  meeting  of  the  league.  The  Plotts 
had  met  his  inquiry  with  the  hope  that  some  of  the 
faithful  might  be  able  to  suggest.  Besides,  they 
wished  him  to  make  acquaintance  with  the  stalwarts 
who  stood  back  of  the  "cause"  without  delay. 

"Shall  we  come  to  order?"  Colonel  Dryden  was 
Inquiring,  having  taken  a  stand  behind  the  deal  table. 

Compliance  with  this  request  seemed  to  consist  In 
a  general  selection  of  box  or  bench  and  a  collapse 
thereon.  Additionally,  the  minister  fumbled  In  the 
pocket  of  his  rusty  frock  coat,  produced  a  rolled 
manuscript,  started  to  prepare  his  voice  by  guarded 
hawking. 

Suspicious  of  the  boxes,  Parker  lowered  his  long 
frame  upon  a  bench  from  which  he  had  seen  the 
goodly  farmeress  arise  on  his  entrance. 

It  was  when  the  preacher  arose  and  rustled  open 
his  roll,  his  face  stern  with  the  determination  to  do 
his  oratorical  best,  that  the  chairman  proposed  the 
postponement  of  the  evening's  paper  on  "Their 
Curse;  Our  Cause"  in  favor  of  the  business  of  their 
guest  of  honor.  Without  bothering  to  put  his  sug- 
gestion to  vote,  the  colonel,  who  retained  other  traces 
than  his  title  of  participation  in  the  Civil  War, 
launched  into  an  address  of  welcome  to  their  "be- 
sotted" neighborhood,  In  which  he  declared  himself 
to  be  voicing  the  sentiments  of  all  there  present. 

"Mr.  Parker,  suh,"  he  insisted,  might  rely  upon 
the  full  support  of  the  league  in  any  emergency.  Let 
him  remember  that — in  any  emergency. 

Into  the  opportunity  of  his  pause  for  breath  Aunt 
flootie  thrust  herself  with  the  statement  of  the  need 
of  their  heaven-sent  for  an  earthly  habitat,  where  he 


6o       FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

might  live  and  have  his  being,  whilst  plying  the  arts 
that  were  to  permit  the  glorious  undertaking  of  ''his 
real  work"  in  their  midst. 

Parker  was  about  to  disown  publicly  the  mission 
already  denied  In  private,  when  regard  for  his  own 
Interests  bade  him  w^ait.  Dryden  was  making  good 
his  promises  of  help  by  mention  of  a  shack  which  he 
owned  on  Fallaway  Rim.  It  was  at  Mr.  Parker's 
disposal  from  that  very  minute,  suh.  Of  course  it 
would  seem  a  most  unworthy  habitation  for  one  ac- 
customed to  the  modern  conveniences  of  a  great  met- 
ropolis; but  at  least  It  was  advantageously  located 
for  the  pursuit  of  his  "private  operations  on  the  pub- 
lic behalf." 

Before  the  offer  was  half  put,  Parker  had  decided 
the  moment  unpropltlous  for  further  betrayal  of  his 
object  in  coming  to  the  Blue  Ridge  country.  Truly, 
those  who  knew  his  past  in  the  great  metropolis 
might  consider  him  engaged  in  orlvate  operations  on 
the  public's  behalf! 

With  as  fulsome  a  manner  as  he  could  command 
In  the  emergency,  he  professed  himself  glad  to  ac- 
cept the  cabin,  sight  unseen,  in  exchange  for  a  proper 
rental.  He  was  not  particular  as  to  modern  con- 
veniences, he  protested,  and,  as  Colonel  Dryden  had 
said,  the  location  was  everything.  His  thought 
that  this  might  include  the  gleam  of  that  copper  hair 
whose  rare  shade  he  wished  to  reproduce  on  canvas, 
as  well  as  the  wherewithal  to  celebrate  his  achieve- 
ment, once  accomphshed,  he  did  not  feel  morally 
bound  to  express. 

To  Dryden's  rather  dubious  query  as  to  whether 
he  was,  by  chance,  superstitious,  he  laughed  reassur- 
ance.    Always  had  he  considered  thirteen  his  lucky 


THE  CONSPIRATORS  611 

number;  he  had  been  born  on  a  Friday,  had  grown 
some  prize  rubber  plants,  invariably  walked  beneath 
any  handy  ladder,  never  had  stooped  to  pick  up  a 
horseshoe  or  even  a  pin  pointed  his  way;  was  wear- 
ing, as  a  matter  of  fact,  a  cat's-eye  scarf  holder  at 
that  very  moment.  No,  he  wouldn't  call  himself 
superstitious. 

The  colonel  expressed  relief.  Mr.  Parker  would 
not,  then,  object  to  the  Rim  shack's  chief  peculiarity, 
its  provision  with  two  doors,  back  and  front,  but  no 
windows.  The  builder,  too,  had  flouted  supersti- 
tions, especially  the  one  that  to  enter  by  one  door  and 
exit  by  another  was  likely  to  bring  undesirable  visi- 
tors. 

To  the  secretary's  suggestion  that  the  eccentric 
architect  might  not  have  heard  of  the  adage,  he  di- 
vulged regretfully  that  the  former  owner  had  lived 
In  daily  expectation  of  such  advent,  having  been  an 
ilHcit  trafficker.  The  back  door  had  been  provided 
as  an  antidote  to  the  front.  But  at  that,  both  were 
needed  for  light  and  ventilation.  In  other  respects 
the  cabin  would  prove  satisfactory.  It  was  well 
chinked,  with  not  a  sawed  board  showing  that  he 
could  remember,  and  boasted  a  puncheon  floor  and 
a  stone  fireplace  that  really  "drew." 

These  details  Parker  waved  aside  with  the  as- 
surance that  the  cabin  sounded  to  be,  on  the  whole, 
what  he  wanted.  He  gracefully  accepted  the  colo- 
nel's offer  to  send  his  "nigger"  to  the  Hotel  Plott 
directly  after  breakfast  next  morning  to  act  as  guide 
and  manage  a  pack-mule  for  his  baggage. 

The  Southerner  had  launched  into  apology  for 
the  laziness  of  the  black,  with  which  Parker  would 
have  to  contend,  when  there  came  startling  Interrup- 


62       FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

tion  to  this  supposedly  secret  meeting  of  the  Dust 
Dry  League. 

^Tlumb  worthless^ — that  nigger  Cotton  Eye,"  he 
had  complained.  *'I  sent  him  here  to-night  to  open 
up  our  meetin'  place  and  fill  and  light  the  lamp, 
natu'ly  expecting  he'd  stay  around  to  see  what  else 
a  black  man  could  do  for  us  whites.  But  what  do 
you  reckon  he  does,  suh?  Sneaks  off  home  to  com- 
mune with  Morpheus.  If  this  only  was  before  the 
war,  suh '* 

It  was  at  this  point  that  the  interruption  came. 

The  lamp  chimney  fell  apart  with  a  clatter;  the 
light  went  out;  some  missile  thudded  against  the  wall 
behind  the  speaker's  chair. 


CHAPTER  VII 

RAZZLE-DAZZLE 

There  followed  a  development  so  weird  as  to 
suppress  even  the  Incipient  shrieks  of  the  lady- 
leaguers.  In  irregular  letters  of  fire  across  the  rock 
wall  appeared  this  erratically  printed  screed: 

BeWarE ! ! 
D.  RUM 

wiLl 

HaVE 

his 

WaY. 
DuSt  drY 

yoU-alL 

Will  BE 

WhEn 
GaBrleL 
fiNds 
yoU 
HeRe. 

"The  handwriting  on  the  wall  !'*  murmured  Aunt 
Hootle  In  an  unwontedly  smooth,  awed  voice. 

*^Mene,  mene,  tekel,  iipharsinJ'  The  sonorous 
quotation  could  come  only  from  him  who  had  a 
ministerial  right  to  such.     "Weighed  in  the  bal- 


ance  3" 


63 


154       FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

*'But  we-all  can't  have  been  found  wanting."  The 
protest  against  further  translation  came  out  of  the 
darkness  In  the  wheeze  of  Hezeklah  Plott. 

"Weighed  nothing — not  this  hefty  crowd!" 

The  evening's  guest  got  to  his  feet,  struck  a  match 
and  applied  It  to  the  wick  of  the  globeless  lamp. 
Holding  that  as  a  torch,  he  advanced  to  examine  the 
supernatural  sign. 

*'Just  as  I  thought!"  he  exclaimed.  "The  wets 
around  here  seem  to  have  soaked  their  humor  In 
grog.  They're  just  playing  a  trick  on  you  with  the 
aid  of  some  luminous  paint — a  pigment  of  calcium 
sulphite  mixed,  I  should  say,  with  mastic  varnish. 
At  any  rate,  that  combination  absorbs  light  when 
exposed  thereto,  and  emits  It  In  darkness." 

In  support  of  this  theory,  the  lamp  wick  flick- 
ered smoklly,  then  steadied.  As  Its  light  Increased, 
the  phosphorescent  warning  dimmed. 

Aunt  Hootle  also  brightened  under  the  logical  ex- 
planation, which  swept  away  her  heart-stopping 
fear  that  the  futility  of  the  league's  past  efforts 
had  brought  upon  them  the  displeasure  of  the  Al- 
mighty. 

"You  say,  colonel,  that  you  sent  Cotton  Eye  here 
to  open  up,"  she  suggested.  "Could  he  have  per- 
petrated this  shameful  thing?" 

"No,  ma'am — reading  and  writing  are  beyond 
that  black,"  said  Dryden.  "To-night's  demonstra- 
tion means  chiefly  that  those  pestiferous  wets  have 
discovered  our  meeting-place.  Some  one  must  have 
paid  an  early  visit  here  and  daubed  yonder  wall  with 
the  paint  which  Mr.  Parker,  suh,  describes.  It  meant 
nothing  to  the  nigger  when  he  saw  It  In  the  dark  and, 
as  the  light  was  burning  when  we  gathered,  we  did 


RAZZLE-DAZZLE  65 

not  notice  it.  What  put  out  the  lamp  puzzles  me; 
we  heard  nothing  that '* 

A  roar  from  outside  silenced  all  lesser  voices. 
There  came  a  rush  of  air  from  the  tunnel-like  pas- 
sage. The  flicker  of  the  unprotected  wick  was  again 
extinguished.  There  followed  the  sound  of  falling 
rock. 

*'It  Is  the  end — dust  dry  to  dry  dust!" 

A  woman's  wall  filled  Cal  Parker's  ears,  even  as 
a  quantity  of  agitated  femininity  was  thrust  into  his 
arms.  Considering  the  fact  that  he  had  moved  only 
the  moment  before  to  set  down  the  lamp  on  the 
table,  the  one  unprotected  female  present,  fair  In 
sex  if  not  in  tout  ensemble,  had  executed  a  well- 
calculated  leap  in  the  dark.  Truly  the  new  role 
thrust  upon  him  had  responsIblHtles ! 

"The  demons  of  rum  have  entombed  us;  let  us 
pray!"  proposed  the  parson. 

*'Isn't  there  something  written  about  prayer  being 
more  effective  with  an  admixture  of  work?"  Parker 
made  objection. 

Still  obliging  with  one  arm  the  spinster  who,  if  she 
had  not  really  swooned,  was  a  limp  enough  char- 
acterization of  one  who  had,  he  groped  forward 
until  he  located  a  bench.  Upon  it  he  deposited  her. 
Another  match  relighted  the  wick  and  again  dimmed 
the  wall-letters  of  fire.  With  the  lamp  held  before 
him,  he  entered  the  passage  to  investigate. 

As  he  stooped  for  the  short  tunnel,  his  foot  caught 
in  something  upon  the  floor  and  he  narrowly  escaped 
a  fall.  On  examination,  he  found  the  stumbling 
block  to  be  the  end  of  a  two-inch  iron  pipe.  Its 
suggestion  cheered  him  greatly.  The  wets  did  not 
intend,  then,  to  go  the  whole  route  with  this,  their 


66       FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

latest  grog-soaked  trick,  else  they  scarcely  would 
have  taken  the  precaution  to  assure  a  supply  of  air 
to  those  entombed  by  the  powder  explosion. 

Doubtless,  they  meant  thoroughly  to  frighten  the 
members  of  the  league  from  further  efforts  against 
their  traffic  In  the  quenching  of  the  human  thirst. 
Perhaps  they  Intended  to  claim  credit  for  digging 
out  the  victims  after  the  warning  on  the  wall  had 
been  blotted  Indelibly  on  their  hearts. 

But  this  discovery  he  could  not  share  with  those 
behind,  since  the  air  w^as  over-burdened  with  min- 
isterial supplications,  well  under  way. 

Within  the  tunnel,  he  found  that,  although  the 
exit  had  been  sealed  by  the  recent  blast,  the  litter  of 
rocks  and  shale  extended  only  a  few  feet.  The  ex- 
plosive must  have  been  placed  inexpertly,  its  force 
thrown  outward.  Unless  removal  of  the  obstruc- 
tion should  cause  a  fresh  slide,  it  looked  possible  to 
claw  out  a  passage. 

"If  one  of  you  worthies  will  get  a  leave  of  absence 
from  the  Lord — will  wriggle  in  here  and  hold  the 
light  for  me,"  he  shouted  back  into  the  chamber, 
^Tve  an  idea  you  won't  need  to  pray." 

There  came  response  from  the  farmer  of  increas- 
ingly melancholy  look.  Parker  drew  on  a  pair  of 
gloves  for  the  protection  of  his  uncalloused  hands, 
before  attacking  the  barrier.  He  moved  the  larger 
rocks  and  passed  them  behind  him,  the  while  scoop- 
ing back  the  shattered  shale.  Soon  he  was  able  to 
execute  a  hole  large  enough  for  the  passage  of  his 
lank  frame. 

*'Out  again!"  he  congratulated  himself  as  he 
straightened  up  in  the  open  gully,  much  as  he  had 
done  after  his  recent  wriggle  from  the  stage. 


K\ZZLE-DAZZLE  67 

The  passage  would  have  to  be  enlarged  for  the 
rescue  of  Dr.  Hezekiah,  the  colonel,  and  the 
farmer's  wife;  the  others  could  crawl  through  at 
once.  Some  one  acquainted  with  the  neighborhood 
could  then  go  for  tools  stronger  than  gloves  in  rib- 
bons and  fingers  blood-stained.  Through  the  open- 
ing he  wirelessed  this  order  of  procedure  to  his  vol- 
unteer, who  in  turn  transmitted  it  to  those  in  the 
chamber. 

Aunt  Hootie  came  first,  bewailing  the  fact  that  she 
had  not  been  handicapped  with  embonpoint  instead 
of  the  spouse  whose  services  to  the  mortal  mouths  of 
men  she  valued  even  higher  than  her  own  to  their 
eternal  souls.  The  secretary  had  been  jolted  into 
recovery  from  her  swoon  by  discovery  of  the  damage 
done  her  best  "meeting  dress."  The  Brand  scorched 
through  on  the  heels  of  her  indignant  exclamations. 
Then  came  the  parson  with  the  news  that  the  farmer 
would  not  leave  his  farmeress.  With  even  more 
vigor  than  he  had  put  into  the  plea  for  Divine  help, 
he  departed  on  the  run  toward  the  Dryden  home- 
stead for  pick,  shovel  and  possible  assistance. 

In  half  an  hour  after  the  good  man's  return  with 
Cotton  Eye  Lee,  for  once  available  when  needed, 
the  opening  was  large  enough  to  emit  the  heaviest 
of  the  "stalwarts."  Colonel  Dryden,  as  befitted 
so  substantial  a  leader,  was  last  to  materialize 
and  with  him  brought  the  query  interrupted  by  the 
blast. 

"I  want  to  ask  you  eye-witnesses  of  this  razzle- 
dazzle,  what  put  out  that  lamp?  If  there  had  been 
any  report  of  gun-fire,  now,  or  if " 

"I  distinctly  heard  the  thud  of  a  bullet  against  the 
wall,"  interrupted  Dr.  Hezekiah. 


68       FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

Again  Cal  Parker  essayed  practical  explanation 
of  the  seemingly  miraculous. 

"There's  a  chap  up  New  York  way  named  Maxim 
who  makes  a  silencer  for  rifles  and  revolvers.  Do 
you  folks  happen  to  know  whether  any  of  the  Dismal 
wets  has  invested  in  one?'* 

All  chins  wagged  in  the  negative;  then  soon  the 
farmer's  dropped  to  his  chest  and  a  standstill. 

"There's  one  fellow  loafering  hereabouts,"  ad- 
mitted he  in  deepening  melancholia,  "who  has  done 
boasted  how  he's  got  his  repeater  'charmed'  for 
slicks  and  like  pests.  A  silencer — do  you-all  reckon 
that  could  be  what's  charmed  Rex  Currie's  gun?" 

So,  Parker  commented  in  thought.  The  hand- 
some hillbilly  again!  Being  somewhat  contentious 
himself,  he  must  watch  for  a  way  more  forceful 
than  self-protection  to  retaliate. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

POPPER  OF  POPSKULL 

Rather  early  for  him  next  morning,  Parker  was 
tramping  the  declivities  and  twists  of  a  rutted,  ocher 
road  that  led  into  the  mountains.  Ahead,  urged 
by  intermittent  prods  from  a  stick  manipulated  by 
his  black  guide,  plodded  an  equally  black  mule,  laden 
to  pack-a-back  capacity  with  luggage  and  a  supply  of 
provisions  sufficient  to  last  several  weeks.  The 
Gap,  seething  to  its  village  limits  from  the  excite- 
>ment  of  the  evening  before,  lay  a  few  miles  behind; 
their  destination,  an  unoccupied  hill  cabin,  several 
ahead. 

The  newest  perplexity  of  the  many  that  had  com- 
plicated his  reception  at  Dismal  was  the  morning's 
inexplicable  change  in  the  demeanor  of  Cotton  Eye 
Lee.  From  their  first  step  out  of  the  village,  the 
negro  had  made  plain  his  aversion  to  entering  upon 
the  expedition.  His  manner  bore  not  a  distant- 
cousinly  relationship  to  that  of  the  day  before.  He 
was  silent  to  taciturnity,  his  ill-assorted  eyes  shifting 
uneasily  from  road  to  brush,  from  survey  of  the 
back-track  to  an  even  closer  scrutiny  of  the  green 
velour  shadows  along  the  road  ahead.  No  tinkle 
of  coin  in  the  pocket,  no  bait  of  improvised  verbal 
monstrosities  that  must  have  been  strange  to  his  ears, 
humanized  his  mood. 

69 


70       FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

"What  do  you  suspect  Is  after  us,  Cotton?"  Parker 
once  demanded. 

"It  ain't  that  I'm  scared  none,  cap'n,  but  I  can't 
seem  to  help  a  omnltlous  feeling  that  this  here  ain't 
no  expedition  for  a  thirsty  nigger." 

The  panorama  slowly  unwinding  diverted  the 
color-convert.  Indeed,  Spring  was  holding  a  camp- 
meeting  In  the  Blue  Ridge !  New  green  was  the 
text,  majestically  read  from  the  roofs  of  pines  and 
chestnut-oaks,  from  the  walls  of  ferns,  from  the 
anterooms  of  the  stream  which  showed  dimly  now 
and  then.  The  hymns  were  announced  and  sung  In 
sudden  bursts  of  clustering  pink  azalea,  In  whole 
gardens  of  white-centered  iris.  In  the  sun-touched, 
ghost-w^hlte  flowers  of  the  sour-wood  tree.  In  the  flash 
of  a  pair  of  cardinal  birds  that  streaked  like  the 
spirit's  cry  from  tree  to  tree — In  the  chats,  finches, 
and  tanagers  that  fluttered  their  throats  in  one  uni- 
versal psan.  Prayer — staying,  serious,  the  ground- 
work of  the  service — was  the  red  clay  underfoot. 

Truly  a  soul-reaching  evangelist  this  to  whom 
Spencer  Pope  had  sent  him!  Yesterday  the  hue  of 
the  ground  had  filled  the  sinner  with  Irritation;  to- 
day, modulated  by  the  aromatic  dimness  of  the 
woods.  It  soothed  him,  seemed  symbolic.  He  would 
pursue  the  red  path,  yes;  but  a  dull  red  path,  toned 
down  to  comparative  sobriety  by  the  temperate  col- 
ors In  the  heart  of  the  hills.  As  soon  as  he  could 
locate  the  proper  fountain  he  would  store  his  cabin 
on  the  mountain  rim  with  the  liquor  which  hitherto 
had  been  his  enemy,  there  to  make  It  his  friend. 

Such  pleasing  thoughts  were  interrupted  by  the 
necessity  of  hurrying  after  his  guide  from  where  he 
had  loitered  at  the  crossing  of  the  watercourse. 


POPPER  OF  POPSKULL  71 

The  negro  stood  as  a  bizarre  forefront  figure 
against  a  Japanesque  background  of  sllmsy  pines, 
festooned  with  cones.  Patently,  he  was  unconscious 
of  the  picture  he  made,  uncaring  as  to  the  back- 
ground. He  was  staring  down  at  a  green,  fresh- 
cut  branch  lying  In  the  exact  center  of  the  road. 

The  Intensity  of  his  expression,  his  manner  of 
rolling  his  eyes,  the  saliva  that  trickled,  unheeded, 
from  the  corners  of  his  mouth — all  aroused  curi- 
osity. 

''Never  see  laurel  before?"  asked  Parker. 
^'What's  so  startling  about  this  specimen?" 

The  acqulsltory  gleam  of  the  day  before  showed 
in  the  black  face. 

"Specimen — specimen,"  he  muttered. 

A  certain  relief  came  to  Parker  that  he  could  still 
tempt  the  guide  v/Ith  tidbits  from  his  vocabulary. 

"Yes,"  he  urged.  "What  Is  so  confounding  about 
this  tenuous  offshoot  of  the  Rhododendron  viaxi- 
mumf 

"Cap'n,  this  here  ain't  no  specimen,  no  more  than 
Its  a  maximum  offshoot."  Cotton  Eye's  voice  was 
husky.  "This  here.  If  you-all  Insist  on  amplification 
— this  here  Is  a  sign!" 

"A  sign — sign  of  what?" 

"Yes,  sir,  plain  as  chalk  letters  on  a  school-board. 
It's  a  kind  of  prognostication  that" — up  and  down 
the  road  he  glanced  before  finishing  In  a  rasped 
whisper — "that  soothing  sirup  be  located  In  the 
near-by,  close-up  proximity." 

As  the  stranger  showed  only  continued  Inquiry,  the 
negro  Insisted. 

"Soothing  sirup — can't  you'uns  get  me,  noway? 
The  sign  works  like  this;  you  trapse  Into  the  brush 


72       FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

the  direction  she  points;  then  maybe  you  come  upon 
another  slip  of  laurel  and  trapse  the  direction  she 
points;  then  maybe  another  and  another.  By  and 
by  you  meets  a  man  that's  got  something  you-uns 
wants  and  you — 

"You  mean — 

"Popskull!" 

In  Parker's  Interruption  had  been  gasped  more 
of  hope  and  fear  than  the  ebony  informant  could 
have  been  expected  to  understand.  The  single  word 
of  whispered  reassurance,  therefore,  called  forth  a 
spasm  of  joy  like  that  which  Rex  Currie  had  In- 
terrupted the  day  before.  Higher  and  higher 
chortled  his  voice,  startling  the  birds,  seeming  to 
breeze  the  trees.  Dimly  conscious  of  his  guide's 
word-laden  protests,  he  paid  no  heed. 

"I  specimen  you-all  had  best  shut  up.  'Twon't  get 
you  nothing,  telling  the  whole  world  your  pleasure- 
ables.  Land  sakes,  cap'n.  If  you-uns  don't  quiet 
down,  we'd  best  be  throwing  mud  outen  here!  It 
ain't  safe,  I  tell  you,  for  a  stranger  to  be  projecting 
around  a  sign." 

Cotton  Eye  glanced  apprehensively  up  the  moun- 
tain road,  then:  *'LInky  day,  now  we're  done  for! 
If  It  ben't  Old  Tom  Metcalf  himself,  and  looking 
pizener  than  a  snake !  He's  done  hearn  you — he's 
seen  us  at  the  sign!" 

Three  of  the  warning  words,  rather  than  the 
urgency  of  their  tone,  silenced  Parker.  Already 
he  was  Interested  In  Old  Tom  Metcalf. 

*'Howdy.  Might  I  ask  where  be  you-all  head- 
ing?" Their  discoverer  put  the  deep-voiced  ques- 
tion. 

"You  might." 


POPPER  OF  POPSKULL  73 

Young  to  old,  the  humor,  the  succinctness,  the 
curiosity  were  returned. 

This  man,  Parker  reminded  himself,  was  the  im- 
mediate forbear  of  the  girl  named  for  a  mountain. 
He  saw  a  supertype  of  mountaineer,  of  height  and 
weight  that  spoke  for  great  strength.  Although 
looking  the  redoubtable  Metcalf  of  his  reputation, 
he  was  unpretentiously  garbed  in  the  denim  overalls 
of  the  region,  suspended  by  a  single  gallus;  a  calico 
shirt  lay  open  over  his  hairy  chest;  his  black  slouch 
hat  was  pulled  down  to  the  line  of  his  bushy  white 
brows. 

Across  the  hollow  of  his  left  arm  a  repeating  rifle 
rested  with  a  suggestion  of  readiness.  The  hand 
that  gripped  its  butt  was  brown,  knotted,  power- 
ful. 

One  glance  at  his  face — tufted  around  the  ears 
with  thick,  tawny  hair — and  the  rest  of  him  was  taken 
for  granted.  Unusual  in  that  it  was  shaved  of 
beard  or  mustache,  its  characteristics  showed  boldly 
— ^blue,  quizzical  eyes;  a  straight,  clear-cut  nose; 
jaws  square  in  their  set;  mouth  wide  and  flexible,  at 
the  moment  twisted  in  a  smile  somewhat  grim. 

"I  have  rented  a  cabin  for  the  summer  on  what 
they  call  Fallaway  Rim,"  Parker  was  saying.  He 
gestured  toward  the  perturbed  black,  who  had  re- 
treated to  the  side  of  the  grass-cropping  mule,  as 
if  to  a  haven.  "Cotton  Eye  Lee,  here,  is  my  guard 
of  honor." 

"Mighty  dry  company  youVe  picked,  and  not 
overburdened  with  honor,  yon  nigger.  I  know  him 
— he  pretended  once  to  work  on  my  place." 

"He  was  picked  for  me,"  continued  Parker,  with 
a  grin  for  the  fullness  of  his  meaning.     "But  he 


,74       FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

returns  to  the  Gap  as  soon  as  he  has  honored  and 
jguarded  me  to  my  destination." 

"And  you,  stranger,  what  did  you  say  your  name 
was?" 

Parker  had  not  said  and  knew  it,  so  he  supplied 
the  Information. 

*Trom  out  North,  be  you?" 

"Direct  from  Manhattan  Island.  I  came  to  hunt 
— well,  several  things." 

The  mountaineer  completed  his  survey  of  the 
other's  person,  then  turned  with  an  estimating  ex- 
pression toward  the  pack  carried  by  the  mule. 

"I  reckon,"  he  returned.  Pausing,  he  lifted  his 
eyes  to  sweep  the  mountain  range  of  balds  and 
domes,  knobs,  and  ridges.  "You'll  likely  find  hunt- 
ing dangerous,  unless  you've  done  learned  our  game 
laws.    I'm  a  hunter  my  own  self,  but  no  poacher."     ■ 

Parker  took  a  forward  step  and  spoke  directly: 
"I've  never  been  called  a  poacher,  either,  and  so  far 
I've  kept  out  of  jail.  My  hunting  will  be  confined 
to  things  I'm  entitled  to." 

"It's  better  that  way,  Mr.  Man.  See  to  it  you 
ain't  prejudiced  none  In  your  own  favor." 

"I'd  have  to  be  some  prejudiced,"  laughed  Parker, 
"to  withstand  a  certain  local  frankness  which  has 
jolted  me  repeatedly  ever  since  the  stage  dumped 
me  into  a  muddy  ditch.  It  was  your  daughter,  by 
the  way^  who  graciously  dragged  me  out." 

"Verney?     She  didn't  mention  it  to  home." 

The  curt  return  was  accompanied  by  a  truth-prob- 
ing look  from  under  the  frowning  brows. 

"Our  meeting  was  rather  unconventional.  Pos- 
sibly she  does  not  consider  me  a  legitimate  acquaint- 
ance, but  I  continue  to  feel  very  much  In  her  debt. 


POPPER  OF  POPSKULL  75 

You  are  to  be  congratulated,  Mr.  Metcalf,  on  hav- 
ing such  a  humane  and  handsome  daughter." 

Although  Parker's  speech  was  advised  by  previous 
experience  with  proud  parents  and  spoken  sincerely 
enough,  it  seemed  to  be  unfortunate.  The  old  man's 
scowl  deepened  and  he  was  about  to  depart  in  dis- 
pleasure. Almost  did  he  tread  upon  the  laurel 
*'sign."     But  in  time  he  turned. 

^'Verney  is  Verney  yerabouts,"  he  said,  "and  ain't 
pleased  by  common  praise  from  strangers.  You-all 
had  best  be  right  careful  that  the  game  you  hunt 
wears  fur,  fin,  or  feathers.  Else,  you  won't  be  safe 
nohow  or  even  comfortable!" 

With  no  ceremony  of  farewell,  not  even  a  back- 
ward glance,  Tom  Metcalf  strode  by  the  trail  whence 
he  had  appeared  back  into  the  woods. 

The  man  from  "out  North"  felt  that  his  number 
had  been  taken.  He  stood  staring  after  the  Ridger, 
pondering  new  words  of  warning. 

Only  fur,  fin,  and  feathers  was  he  permitted  to 
hunt  by  the  unwritten  law  of  the  region;  otherwise 
he'd  be  penalized  for  poaching! 

His  mind  was  seeing  the  tint  of  copper  tresses,  the 
pure  lines  of  a  profile  cameoed  against  plush 
shadows.  Yonder  lay  the  twig  upon  the  road,  a 
character  of  a  sign-language.  It  recalled  certain 
gypsy  patterans  which  he  had  encountered  on  a  long- 
ago  walking  trip  through  Brittany.  It  pointed  away 
from  yesterday  and  the  anti  fervor  of  Aunt  Hootie, 
with  her  medicine  dropper  and  eye-cup. 

His  glance  was  drawn  from  it  at  the  suggestion  of 
Cotton  Eye  Lee,  who  had  approached  in  apolegtic 
manner,  now  that  the  cause  of  his  retreat  had  re- 
treated. 


76      FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

*'He's  done  warned  us-uns — Old  Tom  himself,  the 
most  prodigious  popper  of  popskull  in  the  whole  of 
both  the  Carolinas!" 

But  in  the  very  moment  of  tacit  submission,  a  cer- 
tain Bacchanalian  protested;  so  did  an  artist  re- 
ligious.   Both  bore  the  same  name — Calvin  Parker. 

Still  regarding  the  twig,  in  fancy  selecting  the 
tubes  he  would  squeeze  for  that  truly  wondrous 
shade  of  Titian  hair,  the  "furriner"  finished  his  In- 
terrupted laugh. 

"Glory  be!"  He  borrowed  expression  from  her 
of  the  dropper.  "I've  just  discovered  something 
about  myself,  Cotton;  I'm  a  poacher  at  heart.'* 


CHAPTER  IX 

FLAME-FLARES 

If,  in  view  of  his  reception  by  *'the  Cappers"  or 
the  attitude  toward  him  of  that  active  member  of 
the  wets  met  on  the  road,  Calvin  Parker  wondered 
that  he  was  allowed  to  settle  unmolested  in  the  shack 
on  Fallaway  Rim,  he  would  have  been  enlightened 
by  occurrences  in  the  home  of  the  Metcalf 's  the  night 
of  his  arrival. 

Their  dwelling  was  called  a  *'house,'*  in  distinc- 
tion from  regional  cabins,  because  of  its  size  and 
the  luxury  of  separated  rooms.  It  stood  for  the 
"quality"  of  former  generations  of  Metcalfs.  Back 
a  safe  hillside  distance  from  Roaring  Fork,  a  stream 
which  occasionally  lived  up  to  its  name,  it  had  an 
impregnable  look.  A  wide  "stoop,"  furnished  with 
flower  boxes,  a  hammock,  and  several  chairs  of  home 
construction,  lent  It  an  air  of  modernity  that  ob- 
scured Its  hewn-log,  mud-plastered  construction. 

The  road  of  approach  was  flanked  proudly  by 
ancient  oaks.  From  the  back  yard,  on  the  far  side 
of  the  stream,  rose  imposingly  the  Vernaluska 
Mountain,  after  which  the  only  daughter  of  the  pres- 
ent line  had  been  baptized,  better  known  locally  as 
"Crumbly  Bald,"  because  of  certain  Internal  rum- 
blings which,  at  epochal  intervals,  had  scolded  from 
the  crevasses  and  fissures  that  marked  its  top  like 
the  lines  on  an  aged  face. 

77 


78       FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

The  reluctant  dusk  of  the  Blue  Ridge  had  fallen. 
Vernaluska  Metcalf  had  lit  the  kindlings  of  the  "par- 
lor" fire  which  usually  cheered  the  social  hour  of 
their  day,  and  now  sat  in  a  low  rocking  chair  to 
*'tend"  the  sparks.  Upon  the  upper  of  her  crossed 
knees  rested  a  mountain-made  dulcimer;  in  her 
fingers  was  a  goose  quill,  with  which  she  began  to 
pick  an  African  melody  from  the  strings,  humming 
softly  as  she  played. 

The  tune  gained  in  erraticism  from  her  mood,  for 
her  mind  was  not  upon  it.  She  did  not  consciously 
hear  the  noise  of  steel  against  thick  china  which 
told  her  that  her  father  was  finishing  a  belated  sup- 
per in  the  kitchen.  Neither  did  she  feel  interrup- 
tion in  the  rattle  of  dishes  and  pans  that  bespoke 
the  "redding  up"  passion  of  the  household  autocrat, 
*'Miss  Emmy"  Worth,  her  dead  mother's  sister. 

More  eccentric  grew  Vernaluska's  tune  through 
the  necessity  of  stamping  out  the  sparks  coughed 
from  the  fire  across  the  wide  hearth;  more  luminous 
glowed  her  hair,  as  if  borrowing  light  from  the  blaze. 
But  her  face  did  not  lighten. 

It  was  set  from  weariness  and  worry.  All  day, 
through  the  arduous  tasks  which  fell  to  her  share — 
from  the  early  morning  churning,  the  weekly  "once 
over"  of  the  house,  the  preparation  of  the  noontime, 
principal  meal,  the  milking  of  the  cow — she  had 
been  debating  a  point  of  policy.  To-night  she  must 
argue  it  to  a  successful  conclusion  before  the  domes- 
tic circle. 

Grave  doubt  teased  her  mind  whether  the  silence 
of  last  evening  regarding  the  new  arrival  at  Dismal 
Gap  had  been  advisable.  Should  she  not  have  put 
her  men  folk  on  guard  by  reciting  full  details  of  the, 


FLAME-FLARES  79 

overturned  coach  and  later  appearance  of  the 
stranger  at  the  post-office?  Might  not  her  reti- 
cence precipate  any  possible  overt  act  of  result, 
rather  than  curb  it? 

The  recent  confirmation  of  the  authority  of  the 
drys  by  the  ballot  she  realized  to  have  made  tvvo 
distinct,  opposing  cliques  within  the  family.  One 
was  a  triumvirate,  composed  of  her  father,  who  was 
intolerant  of  any  opposition  to  his  without-the-law 
traffic;  of  Sandyred,  her  equally  dynamic  younger 
brother,  and  of  Rex  Currie,  in  himself  not  the  least 
of  her  problems.  JVIiss  Emmy  didn't  count;  she 
just  "suffered  along"  in  life,  leaning  the  way  of  the 
strong.  So  that  the  other  clique  was  herself — a 
self  rapidly  hardening  in  resolve  to  conquer  the 
three,  her  unwitting  enemies. 

"Your  pappy  will  be  the  death  of  me  yet;  he 
don't  never  do  a  sensible  thing  if  he  can  holpen  it." 
This  plaint  from  the  door  recalled  her  to  the 
moment. 

"What's  he  done  now,  Miss  Emmy,  beyond  be- 
ing late  to  supper?" 

"And  what's  likely  more  important  to  him,  he'll 
be  the  death  of  himself,"  the  good  woman  continued. 
"He's  sopping — been  in  the  Fork  again,  I  suspect. 
He  won't  change  for  me." 

"Well,  he  will  for  me.'' 

Rising,  Vernaluska  laid  the  dulcimer  on  the  man- 
tel and  started  for  the  kitchen.  There,  she  spoke  to 
her  redoubtable  forebear  after  a  way  of  her  own,  as 
if  he  were  a  bad  boy  subject  to  her  control. 

"Thomas,  why  can't  you  keep  out  of  the  Fork? 
'Pears  to  me  you  get  worse  behaved  every  day. 
Don't  you  know  that  rheumatism  is  one  powerful 


8o      FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

affliction?     Get  on  your  Sundays  at  once  and  come 
sit  up  to  the  fire  I" 

"The  idee  of  wasting  fuel  In  the  hearth,  with  spit- 
fire Verney  around!"  chuckled  the  old  man.  "But 
don't  worry.     I'll  be  with  you  directly." 

The  girl  returned  and  lit  the  oil-lamp  on  the 
center-table.  By  this  illumination  she  glanced  ap- 
preciatively around  the  room,  whose  adornments  at- 
tested resource  and  labor  which  she  of  their  accom- 
plishment alone  knew. 

The  walls  were  papered,  yes;  certainly  a  distinc- 
tion, If  only  In  such  newspapers  as  had  come  within 
her  reach.  Forming  a  frieze  just  below  the  ceiling 
were  press  Illustrations  cut  out  and  pasted  with  In- 
finite care.  Here  and  there  were  well-balanced 
groups  of  pictures — the  head  of  a  handsome  woman 
who,  for  reasons  better  known  to  the  outside  world 
than  to  Vernaluska,  had  achieved  notoriety;  a  scene 
of  a  city  street  during  the  "rush"  hour,  a  wrecked 
ship,  a  burning  building — what  not. 

Softening  the  outline  of  the  windows  was  draped 
a  meshlike  fabric  of  tiny  pine-cones,  strung  and 
knotted  together  In  a  unique,  hand-made  design. 
Cushions,  fat  from  goose  feathers  or  pungent  balsam 
and  covered  with  a  regard  for  the  association  of 
colors  that  deserved  better  material,  lent  ease  to 
chairs  and  benches. 

On  one  end  of  the  table,  beside  a  closed  violin- 
case,  squatted  a  brown  earthenware  bowl  full  of 
pussy-willows.  Conspicuous  upon  the  mantel, 
through  its  graceful  shape,  stood  a  tall  jug  of  the 
same  crude  material. 

To  this  the  girl's  eyes  swerved,  upon  It  lingered 
with  an  expression  of  critical  admiration.     Taking  a 


FLAME-FLARES  81 

ruler  from  the  table  drawer,  she  stood  off,  squinted 
her  eyes  for  perspective,  began  measuring  the  up- 
turned handles  of  the  jug,  as  painters  do  drawings 
on  canvas. 

Soon  her  father  emerged  from  the  chamber  which 
he  occupied  with  the  boys,  duly  attired  in  "store" 
pants  and  slippers. 

"Sandy's  slow-moving  to-night.  Not  through  his 
barn  chores  yet?" 

"I  reckon  not,  Tom." 

"And  Rex?" 

To  this  Miss  Emmy  supplied  answer  with  mani- 
fest resentment:  "Rex  must  have  found  business 
good  in  Dismal  Gap  to  miss  two  whole  days' 
victuals." 

For  a  moment  the  patriarch  stood  blinking  back 
at  the  fire  of  hickory  logs.  His  tuftlike  brows  drew 
together  in  a  frown.  Evidently  the  slow  blaze  of  it 
did  not  please  him,  for  he  strode  over  to  the  fuel 
box,  rummaged  among  its  contents,  selected  several 
lengths  of  wood  more  to  his  liking.  After  placing 
these  upon  the  burning  hickory,  he  drew  up  the  huge, 
sway-back  chair  of  home  construction  sacred  to  his 
occupancy. 

With  a  look  of  expectation.  He  awaited  the  effect 
upon  the  fire  of  his  addition.  Soon  a  sputter  of 
sparks  shot  out,  to  be  gulped  in  the  colorful  flames 
for  which  linwood  is  remarked. 

The  old  man  leaned  forward,  dropped  his  leonine 
head  into  his  two  huge  paws,  again  emitted  his  odd, 
deep-throated  expression  of  approval.  He  seemed 
not  to  hear  the  porch  door  open  and  shut,  so  diverted 
was  he. 

"Oh,  you  beauties  of  blue  flames!"  he  muttered. 


82       FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

*'You-all  have  the  color  for  me,  the  life,  the  light!" 

Irritated,  Miss  Emmy  seized  the  hearth-broom — 
a  bundle  of  wild  sedge  wrapped  with  wire  to  the 
end  of  a  stick — and  began  to  ply  it  against  the  sparks. 

"You  do  make  a  power  of  work,  Tom  Metcalf, 
just  when  Verney's  got  the  house  broomed  up ! 
Why  you  can't  do  with  a  hickory  burning  is  what  I 
don't  never  see." 

The  recalcitrant  made  no  defense.  He  stretched 
his  hands  clutchingly  toward  the  lively  light;  con- 
tinued to  chuckle  and  to  mutter. 

*'Once  I  could  get  you-all  fast  in  my  grip — once 
I  could  feel  the  burn  of  you  on  my  palms !  Why 
run  you-all  so  fast  up  the  chimney,  blue  flames?" 

Sandyred,  who  had  entered,  flung  his  hat  over  a 
wooden  peg  and  crossed  to  the  group.  He  stopped 
behind  his  parent's  chair;  listened,  waggled  his  head 
in  the  midst  of  a  deep-drawn  sigh.  His  glance 
swerved,  as  if  at  a  word,  to  meet  that  of  his  sister. 
Her  face,  also,  was  drawn  with  anxiety;  but  soon 
pride  in  her  handsome  brother  won  him  a  smile. 

At  nineteen,  Thomas  Metcalf,  Jr. — known  best 
along  the  ridge  by  his  descriptive  nickname — had  the 
fully  developed  figure  of  a  man  grown  and  a  height 
of  six  feet  one.  His  coloring,  like  the  girl's  own, 
hair  as  well  as  skin  and  eyes,  was  a  direct  Inherit- 
ance from  "Old  Tom"  who,  In  turn,  had  Inherited  it 
from  former  Old  Toms  of  the  Metcalf  line.  The 
chief  present  difference  was  due  to  the  fact  that  the 
erstwhile  auburn  of  the  parent's  hair  and  brows  had 
become  so  admixed  with  the  white  of  advancing 
years  that  it  was  lightened  almost  to  the  color  of 
hemp. 

Already  the  son's  face  was  showing  lines  around 


FLAME-FLARES  83 

eyes  and  mouth — hard  lines  that  bespoke  the  strain 
of  the  vocation  into  which  he  had  been  pressed.  A 
certain  alertness  of  glance  and  movement  that  could 
scarcely  have  come  from  nerves  in  one  of  such  su- 
perb physical  condition  suggested  long  acquaintance 
with  danger,  a  consequent  habit  of  the  defensive. 

The  old  man  looked  up.  "Throw  on  some  more 
linwood,  Sandy.  It's  warming  to  the  heart — lights 
up  the  hope  of  them  that  gather  round." 

The  younger  added  several  of  the  sw^ift-burning 
sticks  and  stood  watching  the  reflected  animation  on 
his  father's  face,  rather  than  the  conflagration  itself. 

"Ho,  there,  you  flames,  one  day  you-all  will  be 
mine — mine!     I'll  find  you  yet,  for  certain  sure." 

Again  brother  and  sister  exchanged  troubled 
glances.  This  prediliction  for  the  linwood  flare, 
these  more  or  less  incoherent  comments  w^ere  no  new 
thing.  But  of  late  they  appeared  to  be  obsessing 
the  mountaineer,  so  mentally  solid  on  other  subjects. 
For  long  the  two  had  united  in  a  campaign  of  coun- 
teraction, a  policy  of  pointing  the  prosaic,  as  it  were. 

Miss  Emmy,  however,  had  not  their  patience. 
Nearly  the  same  age  as  Old  Tom,  eminently  sane, 
she  frequently  vented  her  irritation,  as  now. 

"Ain't  it  time  you  trapped  that  field-mouse  what's 
using  in  your  head,  Tom  Metcalf?"  she  snapped. 
"  'Pears  to  me  it's  gnawing  your  brains  worse  each 
and  every  day.  If  you  can  explain  this  blue-flame 
jabber,  don't  it  stand  to  reason  you'd  best  do  it  and 
ease  off  your  mind?  Maybe  so  we'd  help  you  find 
them.  What  are  they,  anyhow,  that  you  want  to 
burn  your  hands?  Why  do  you  hope  to  grip  them? 
What  will  it  profit  you  if  you  do?  If  you  can't 
explain " 


84      FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

**How  be  you  feeling  this  evening,  Missy  Em?*' 
Interrupted  Sandyred. 

'Torely,  thank  God!"  Despite  her  devout  ex- 
pression, the  spinster  frowned  rebelhously  into  her 
nephew's  warning  glance.  Sandyred  was  her  espe- 
cial joy  in  life,  even  as  was  Vernaluska  Old  Tom's, 
although  the  expression  of  her  worshipful  attitude 
toward  him  was  guarded  and  ofttimes  deceptive. 

It  was  accepted  as  a  family  fact,  however,  that 
he  alone  could  curb  her  mania  for  reforming  the 
persons,  as  well  as  the  properties,  of  the  household, 
could  file  down  the  saw-toothing  of  her  corrections. 
Now  she  jerked  a  vehement  up  and  down  of  the 
chin  to  his  silent  hint. 

Old  Tom  turned  restlessly  in  his  chair.  *'Do  us," 
he  suggested,  "one  of  your  mimics — the  revivalist." 

The  youth,  always  glad  to  entertain  with  the  chief 
of  his  talents,  was  more  than  ready  to-night.  To 
coax  his  father's  thoughts  back  to  the  normal  con- 
cerns of  life,  to  make  him  laugh  and  forget — this 
effort  he  long  had  shared  with  his  sister  in  their 
home  life. 

Springing  around  the  table,  that  he  might  use  it 
as  a  pulpit,  he  struck  an  attitude,  rounded  his  eyes, 
puffed  his  cheeks  piously;  then,  after  the  florid  man- 
ner of  negro  camp-meeting  artists,  began  to  exhort. 

His  ability  at  Impersonation  had  been  ''born  In 
him."  When  yet  a  toddler  he  had  begun  ''taking 
off"  the  cock-sure  turkey  gobbler,  the  lost  calf,  the 
Jane  mule  disporting  herself  in  the  face  of  discipline. 
Later,  his  interests  had  enlarged  beyomd  the  barn- 
yard, and  he  flattered  the  wild  creatures  of  the 
woods  with  his  emulation.  His  first  teacher  at  dis- 
trict school,  the  circuit  rider,  his  own  father — none 


FLAME-FLARES  85 

escaped  his  genius  as  he  grew  older  and  contem- 
plated human  possibiliticj. 

Independent  of  make-up  or  costume,  with  inimit- 
able realism  of  fervor  and  dialect,  he  now  invited 
their  attention  to  the  horrors  of  hell  and  the  prefer- 
ence of  paradise.  He  asked  for  confession  of  guilt 
from  each  in  sepulchral  tones;  he  pounced  upon  in- 
accuracies in  their  supposed  defense  with  especial 
applications  and  startling  violence;  he  convicted 
them  seperately  and  collectively;  at  last  doomed 
them  to  eternity's  taxing  torments  in  the  bottomless 
pit. 

The  severity  of  Miss  Emmy*s  feelings  had  relaxed 
considerably  by  the  denouement.  Old  Tom  was 
laughing  like  a  boy. 

"Be  I  black  or  white?*'  she  demanded. 

"Lead  me  to  the  mourner's  bench,"  he  implored. 

Sandyred  mopped  the  pleased  look  on  his  face  as 
he  sank  back  into  a  chair.  When  well  in  command 
of  the  superiority  to  praise  which  was  an  affectation 
of  his  nineteen  years  plus,  he  shifted  the  onus  of 
entertainment  to  his  sister. 

"And  now,  Verney,  leave  us-all  hear  the  rest  of 
that  story — ^you  left  off  at  the  bottom  of  the  column 
yon  side  the  door." 

The  girl  took  the  lamp  and  walked  over  to  the 
indicated  section  of  the  wall.  She  mounted  the  chair 
which  Sandy  placed  for  her,  found  the  place  in 
the  newspaper  fiction.  She  and  her  brother  selected 
their  improvised  wall-covering  advisedly,  its  chief 
qualification  being  that  no  page  of  a  tale  need  be 
turned — perforce  an  impossibility — to  reach  its 
climax  and  end. 

This  particular  yarn,  a  syndicated  thriller  of  the 


86      FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

West,  had  held  them  for  several  nights.  In  their 
honor  code,  Improvised  for  the  continuance  of  gen- 
eral Interest,  had  been  Incorporated  the  rule  that 
none  might  read  for  himself.  Last  night,  as  always, 
Vernaluska  had  cut  off  at  a  tense  paragraph.  Glanc- 
ing down  at  the  three  expectant  faces  lifted  In  the 
fireglow,  she  saw  that  no  reminder  was  necessary. 
She  turned,  focused  the  light,  and  began : 

^'Facing  the  leveled  rifles  of  the  rustlers,  Tex  Masters 
began  to  fear  that  the  clutch  of  circumstance  was  at  last  to 
prove  too  much  for  him.  He  dared  move  neither  hand  to 
his  holsters,  for  the  dear  sake  of  the  girl  astride  the  horse 
behind  him. 

"The  hot,  prairie  wind  blew  her  silken  tresses  against  his 
cheeks  and  twined  them,  like  loosened  strands  of  the  lariat 
of  Fate,  around  his  muscular  neck.  In  that  vital  moment, 
on  the  threshold  of  death,  he  knew  he  would  not  have  un- 
twined them  to  save  his  life. 

"  'I  love  you.  Heart  of  Heaven,'  he  murmured  hoarsely. 
^Whatever  comes,  remember  only  that  I  love  you!' 

"A  shot  battered  the  brazen  air.  Hearing  It,  Tex  cal- 
culated swiftly,  then  leaned  instantly  to  the  left.  A  grim 
smile  twisted  his  sun-bronzed  face,  as  a  drop  of  blood 
splashed  from  the  tip  of  his  right  ear  upon  his  cheek. 

"Amaze  held  his  dare-devil  spirit  enchained,  as  he  felt  a 
swift  movement  at  one  elbow,  then  at  the  other.  In  the 
same  split-second  two  steel  points  projected  from  under  his 
armpits,  clutched  by  two  white  hands.  Two  simultaneous, 
well-aimed  shots  barely  anticipated  the  first  forward  plunge 
of  their  mount;  then " 

At  this  point  of  Interest  the  reading  suddenly 
ceased.     Vernaluska's  light  had  blown  out. 


CHAPTER  X 

SAFETY  FIRST 

The  cause  of  the  interruption  was  a  gust  from  the 
opened  door.  Rex  Currie  strode  into  the  room,  to 
meet  various  ejaculations  of  resentment. 

''You-all  raised  in  a  barn,  Rex?"  the  old  man 
roared. 

*'Such  slush!"  Thus  Miss  Emmy,  but  with  a 
glance  of  exasperation  at  the  disturber. 

Sandyred  contributed  fromi  the  door,  which  he  had 
closed: 

"Even  Verney  never  can  learn  you  when  you  ain^t 
wanted." 
•    The  hillbilly  reflected  their  Impatience. 

*'You-all  needn't  be  so  uncivil,"  he  said,  "when 
I'm  bringing  you  news." 

"Which  ain't  much  good,  I  reckon,  if  it  won't  keep 
a  spell,"  objected  Tom.  "The  world  wa'n't  made 
in  a  day.  If  you  don't  slow  down  some,  young 
feller,  you'll  project  yourelf  clean  outen  it.  Light 
the  lamp  and  read  some  more,  Verney.  I  want  to 
know  if  that  there  two-gun  girl  fetches  her  targets.'* 

"You'll  be  hunting  a  target  of  your  own  when 
you've  heard  my  news,"  the  young  man  Insisted^ 
and  produced  a  folded  sheet  of  letter-paper  from 
his  pocket.  "Let  me  help  you  down,  honey. 
That's  right — give  me  the  lamp.  Sit  here  by  the 
fire  and  rest  up." 

87 


88       FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

The  attentions  to  which  Vernaluska  submitted 
were  not  exactly  usual  In  the  Blue  Ridge,  but  to  be 
expected  from  Rex  Currle.  Although  born  and 
reared  on  the  shank  of  Crumbly  Bald,  which  lay 
just  across  the  creek,  he  had  "traveled"  enough  to 
wear  off  rough  edges  and  take  on  a  veneer  of  gal- 
lantry which  went  well  with  his  sophisticated  ap- 
pearance. 

With  an  Impatient  fling,  he  tossed  the  paper  to 
the  disgruntled  patriarch. 

"I  know  there  ain't  no  crowding  you,  Tom,  when 
you're  not  In  a  hurry;  but  you'd  best  put  this  letter 
next  on  the  entertainment  bill." 

Impressed,  Old  Tom  opened  the  note  deliberately, 
jerked  his  chair  around  so  that  the  light  of  the  re- 
placed lamp  fell  directly  upon  it,  cleared  his  throat. 
But  no  sound  crossed  his  lips,  no  shade  his  expres- 
sion, to  the  end. 

When  he  had  finished,  he  turned,  not  upon  the 
messenger  waiting  with  ill-repressed  excitement,  as 
though  for  an  explosion,  but  upon  his  own  daughter. 

"Verney,"  he  Inquired  in  a  tone  unusually  mild 
for  him,  even  when  addressing  her,  "be  there  any- 
thing you-all  have  done  gone  and  forgot  to  tell  your 
pappy  about  your  visit  to  the  Gap  yesterday?" 

Vernaluska  realized  that  the  Issue  for  which  she 
had  tried  to  prepare  was  at  hand;  also  that,  despite 
her  effort  at  control,  her  face  was  coloring.  But 
she  replied  straightaway: 

"Maybe  you're  harking  to  the  stranger  I  yanked 
out  from  under  the  stage?" 

"Maybe  I  be.  H-m!  Why  the  tight  lip  on 
him?" 

Currle's  eyes  flashed.     "I  susplcloned  yesterday 


SAFETY  FIRST  89 

she  favored  the  dude;  now  I  know  It  by  the  guilty- 
look  of  her.  He's  the  kind  that  even  a  woman  can 
keep  a  tight  lip  about." 

^'Jealous  again,  Rex?"  was  Sandyred's  boisterous 
demand.  "You're  better  at  fiddling  than  hiding 
your  feelings.     What's  In  the  letter,  pap?" 

The  girl  paid  no  attention.  Her  father's  search- 
ing eyes  still  held  hers,  and  she  answered  his  stand- 
ing question  quietly. 

'T  calculated  It  wouldn't  do  any  good  to  tell." 

Again  the  old  man  cleared  his  throat,  this  time 
to  read  aloud  with  a  regard  to  detail  that  Included 
the  rubber-stamped  heading  of  the  sheet: 


"Dismal  Gap  Post-Office  and  Emporium. 
"Asa  Simms,  Prop. 

"Dismal  Gap,   North  Carolina. 
"Dear  Tom  : 

"This  will  inform  you  that  the  spy  the  drys  sent  Up  North 
for  is  arrived  and  on  the  job.  Come  in  on  the  stage  yester- 
day, and  made  a  bee-line  for  Plotts's.  According  to  the 
prattle  of  Aunt  Hootle,  he  was  selected  by  Spencer  Pope, 
who,  in  my  humble  opinion,  is  the  slickest  revenuer  we  ever 
drove  out  of  the  Carolinas.  I  spotted  this  new  one  quick  as 
a  flea,  and  served  notice  on  him  to  leave.  When  he  didn't 
scare,  Rex  and  me  had  a  lively  idea  of  sending  him  out  as  a 
bundle,  but  don't  ask  how  that  worked  out.  Rexey  gets  all 
heated  up  when  the  fizzle  is  mentioned. 

"They  held  a  session  over  the  champeen  detector  last  night 
— Dryden,  the  Plotts,  and  others  of  the  pestiferous.  Some- 
body interrupted  the  party  with  a  practical  demonstration  of 
how  it  feels  to  be  hurried  alive;  but  even  that  did  not  give 
their  star  guest  the  going-away-from-here  hunch.  This 
morning  he  headed  out  into  the  hills  with  the  nigger  that 
used  to  fetch  for  you.  Claims  to  be  an  artist,  here  for  his 
health,  and  a  sickly  looking  object  he  is.     I  don't  need  to 


90       FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

remind  you  that  it  ain't  healthy  out  jour  way.     Short  shrift 
is  the  advice  of,  "Yours  fraternally, 

"A.   SiMMS. 

"P.  S. — As  your  Verney  had  first  sight  of  the  dressed-up 
t\vo-yards-of-impudence,  she  can  tell  you,  even  if  Rex  won't 
just  w^hat  he  looks  like. — ^A.  S." 

Before  the  last  word  of  the  postscript  all  eyes 
had  swerved  to  the  daughter  of  the  house. 

''  'Pears  to  me  you'd  oughter  have  mentioned  it 
some  last  night,"  said  her  brother.  "What's  the 
spy-critter  like?" 

"She  w^as  looking  sugar  at  him  when  I  happened 
on  them,"  Currie  interpolated.  "Likely  she's  set- 
ting up  to " 

"Likelier  she  aint!"  The  old  man's  eyes  glared 
bluer  than  the  blue  burn  from  the  hearth.  "You 
boys  leave  off  pestering  Verney  to  remember  things 
she's  seen  fitten  to  forget.  This  ain't  no  business 
for  the  w^omen  folks  nohow.  Anything  you-ali  want 
to  know  about  the  scum — ask  me." 

"You,  Tom?  Have  you  seen  him?  When? 
Where?" 

Vernaluska  put  the  queries  to  her  sly-smiling 
forebear  with  such  eagerness  that  a  shadow  off  Rex 
Currie's  frown  settled  on  Sandyred's  face. 

The  old  man's  glance  warned  the  younger  pair. 

"I  met  up  with  him  this  morning,  headed  for 
Dry  Dryden's  shack  on  Fallaway,  like  Asa's  letter 
says.  He  was  dressed  up  sure  enough,  and  ap- 
peared to  be  in  a  right  smart  humor  with  himself. 
He's  got  quite  a  content  of  nerve,  considering;  but 
we-all  ought  to  make  short  work  of  him." 

Sandy's  face  cleared.    "Tol'able  short,  by  grace!" 


SAFETY  FIRST  91 

he  laughed.  "We'll  trail  him  like  his  own  soul  and 
singe  his  nerve  whenever  he  edges  close  up." 

"Bump  him  off  and  be  done  with  it,  say  I,"  con- 
tended Currie. 

"First  thing,"  Old  Tom  planned,  with  suppressed 
excitement,  "is  to  get  a  holt  on  that  no-good  nigger, 
Cotton  Eye.  Never  allowed  I'd  take  him  back, 
but  we  can't  afford  to  have  him  running  loose,  with 
all  he  knows.  You,  Rex,  ride  down  to  Dismal  early 
to-morrow  morning  and  fetch  him.  He's  afeared 
of  you,  so  gaff  him.  He  can  do  the  chores  around 
the  place,  freeing  Sandy's  time  to " 

"Why  not  let  me  trail  the  spy?"  interrupted  Cur- 
rie.    "I'm  considerable  older  than  Sandy." 

"Older,  hut!'^  Tom  snorted,  with  frank  deprecia- 
tion. "  'Pears  you've  had  two  chances  and  failed, 
so  likely  you'll  keep  cooler  tending  to  business  as  I 
point  it  for  you.  I'll  manage  along  without  the 
boy,  one  way  or  t'other." 

"And  what  of  me.  Pappy  Tom?  Why  leave  me 
plumb  out  of  it?" 

There  was  a  general  straightening  as  Vernaluska 
arose,  crossed  to  the  family  law-giver,  and  put  her 
demand. 

Severally,  from  him,  Sandy,  Rex,  even  from  prim 
Miss  Emmy,  voices  lifted. 

"You,  my  gal?" 

"You're  going  to  be  left  outen  it,  sis,  If  I've  got 
any  say." 

"All  Dismal's  talking  already  about  your  mix-up 
with  this  dude." 

"Have  you-uns  forgot  how  to  be  a  lady,  Verney 
Metcalf?  Your  mother  would  be  turning  in  her 
grave,  knew  she  your  goings-on." 


92       FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

But  the  girl  looked  only  at  the  patriarch. 

"Ain't  I  part  and  passel  of  this  firm,  Tom?  Ain't 
I  got  ability  above  milking  cow-brutes?  Can't  I 
ride,  see,  shoot?  Don't  I  know  every  blackberry- 
vine  and  'dendron-bush  from  here  to  Fallaway?  As 
for  you,  don't  you  need  Sandy  desperate  to  stand 
guard  and  spell  you,  stirring  the  mash  over  at  the 
still?" 

"What  you  aiming  at,  Verney?" 

"Just  this — let  me  trail  the  stranger." 

Springing  to  his  feet  in  a  flare  of  protest,  Currie 
seized  her  by  the  arm,  forcefully  tried  to  usurp  her 
place  before  the  old  man. 

But  Vernaluska  was  not  through,  and  held  her 
ground. 

"I'm  the  only  one  of  us  all  that  has  time  to  find 
out  if  he  really  is  the  slick  you  suspect,"  she  con- 
tinued. "I'm  not  at  all  sure  that  he  ain't  what  he 
says  he  is — a  painter  man,  seeking  health.  He 
looked  right  peaked  to  me.  Now  that  they've 
clapped  the  double-outlaw  brand  on  our  business  we 
can't  afford  to  be  making  unnecessary  mistakes." 

"I  say  no!"  insisted  Currie,  as  if  prodded  beyond 
endurance.  "If  we  three  men  can't  short-shrift  one 
stray  revenuer  without  calling  on  women  folks,  we're 
no  good  noway.  I  won't  consent  to  Verney's  mix- 
ing in  on  this." 

She  had  a  scornful  look  for  his  chivalry. 

"Who  asked  leave  of  you?"  she  demanded. 

"I  tell  you-all  the  girl's  lightning-struck  on  the 
slick.  Pulled  him  out  of  the  mudhole  single-handed, 
Tobe  Riker  says;  washed  his  face  and  whisked  the 
dirt  off  his  fancy  clothes.  And  in  the  store  she  led 
him  on  something  indecent.     It  ain't  to  clear  up 


SAFETY  FIRST  93 

Sandy's  time  that  she's  offering;  It's  to  see  personal 
that  he  don't  get  punctured  before  she  has  a  chance 
to  enjoy  some  more  of  his  fine  manners.  It's  just 
that  or  Rex  Currie  never  guessed  the  buried  card." 

"You've  done  guessed  this  one  wrong — that's  cer- 
tain sure!" 

Old  Tom  also  got  to  his  feet  and  wrenched  off 
the  grip  of  the  boot-legger  from  his  daughter's  arm. 
Shaking  from  a  dislike  of  Currie  which  had  been 
noticeable  frequently  of  late,  he  faced  him. 

"What  right  you  got  to  any  say-so  about  Verney?" 
he  demanded.  "Talk  about  this  stranger's  impu- 
dence— there's  only  one  excuse  for  you.  You're 
plumb  liquored  up  doting  on  the  girl." 

Sandyred,  with  Miss  Emmy's  chirping  caution  at 
his  elbow,  had  closed  In  on  the  group. 

"That  don't  leave  him  outen  apologizing  all 
around  for  saying  she  favors  a  revenue  spy,"  he  de- 
clared with  youthful  bluster,  his  likeness  to  the  old 
man  more  conspicuous  than  at  any  moment  hitherto. 

Vernaluska  glanced  from  one  angry  face  to  an- 
other, then  startled  all  by  lifting  her  voice  In 
laughter. 

"So  It's  three  bears  we  have  In  this  house?"  she 
commented.  "You  two  leave  off  grov/ling  at  the 
third.  You're  too  hard  on  Rex.  He'll  apologize,  I 
reckon,  when  I  get  time  to  listen.  As  for  me,  sup- 
pose you-all  treat  yourselves  to  a  good  long  look 
at  me" 

She  paused,  threw  back  her  head  for  the  Invited 
Inspection.  Her  next  demand  was  centered  upon 
her  father. 

"Do  I  look  like  a  Metcalf  on  the  outside — or 
don't  I?     Do  you  calculate  I'm  soft-soap  within?" 


94       FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

"YouVe  always  been  smart-headed,"  he  admitted, 
without  grudge. 

''Of  course  it  ain't  any  credit  to  me  If  I  am." 
She  hastened  to  depreciate  the  compHment  she  had 
forced.  "What  for  did  you  scrimp  to  send  me  two 
years  across  the  mountain  to  school,  if  not  to  smarten 
up  my  head?  You've  got  a  better  mind  your  own 
self,  Tom  Metcalf,  and  all  I  ask  is  for  you  to  look 
at  the  case  of  this  outsider.  Whatever  he  be,  dare 
we-all  shoo  him  off  the  Ridge  the  rough  way  that, 
according  to  Asa's  letter,  has  been  tried  twice  and 
failed  ?  How  long  do  you  reckon  it  would  be  before 
the  law  would  crimp  us?  It's  tightening  these  days 
— the  law.  What  kind  of  success  have  the  old 
methods  had  against  it?" 

It  was  just  as  well  that  she  did  not  pause  for 
answers  to  her  questions.  None  seemed  ready  with 
return. 

''  'Pears  to  me  you'd  ought  to  take  command, 
Tom.  And  you  need  a  cool-calculating  person  to 
help  you  decide  whether  this  young  man  really  be 
revenuer  or  painter — a  person  more  like  me  than 
Sandy  or  Rex.  If  you  say  after  due  investigation 
that  he  Is  a  slick,  then  you  and  I  will  find  some 
smarter-headed  way  of  driving  him  out  than  by  driv- 
ing ourselves  In  against  the  wall.  Come  across, 
Tom;  do  I  sound  reasonable  or  not?" 

"Dum  reasonable." 

His  eyes  alight  with  the  gleam  of  admiration  for 
his  girl-child  with  which  he  had  been  listening  and 
looking,  the  old  fellow  turned  to  the  others  of  the 
group. 

"Verney  Is  right.  I've  done  gllmmed  this  for- 
eigner over  myself,  and,  like  she  says,  he  sure  looks 


SAFETY  FIRST  95 

the  part  he  claims.  There's  no  way  to  make  cer- 
tain sure  he's  the  officer  expected  without  waiting  for 
another  one  to  show  up  or  for  him  to  commit  him- 
self." 

*'But  he's  committed  himself  already,"  Currie 
interposed.  "Didn't  he  head  straight  for  the 
Plotts?" 

"And  didn't  you  tell  me  yourself  Tobe  Riker  had 
recommended  him  there?"  the  girl  asked  crisply. 

"But  what  of  his  bribing  Cotton  Eye  first-off  for 
information  about  where  to  get  a  drink,  and  his 
mulishness  about  staying  where  he  ain't  wanted  and 
his  being  among  them  present  last  night  at  Dryden's 
cave : 

These  exasperated  demands  Tom  himself  parried. 

"Don't  a'most  everybody  bribe  somebody  for  a 
drink?  As  for  mulishness,  that's  the  best  sign  he's 
shown.  And  like  as  not  It  will  turn  out  soon  why 
and  wherefore  he  attended  that  meetin'." 

"Turn  out?"  Currie  mocked  the  patriarch's  mild 
tone.  "When  did  you  get  into  the  doddering,  turn- 
out class,  Tom  Metcalf?  Like  as  not  you'll  get 
down  to  depending  on  Providence  before  long.  You 
let  us  handle  this  spy  the  way  we've  started  and  it 
won't  be  a  jiffy  until " 

"Well,  it  will  be  a  jiffy,  say  I!"  Old  Tom 
thumped  the  table  to  accentuate  his  roar.  "Who 
gave  you-uns  leave  to  start,  anyhow?  Who's  the 
leader  of  the  wets  yereabouts — me  or  Asa  Simms? 
Who's  got  the  most  to  lose?  When  you  start  off 
with  another  load  of  bumblings  to-morrow.  Rex, 
pass  out  the  word  that  Fm  watching  this  foreign- 
er, and  that  I  won't  stand  no  outside  Interfer- 
ence." 


96       FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

The  hillbilly's  face  crimsoned. 

"You  may  be  the  real  leader  of  the  wets,"  he  ad- 
mitted, "and  you  sure  have  got  the  most  to  lose; 
but  that  don't  entitle  you  to  give  me  orders,  as  I 
can  see." 

"Maybe  that  don't,  but  youVe  entitled  me  your 
own  self.  Why  have  you  hired  out  as  my  bootlegger 
if  you  ain't  willing  to  take  orders  from  me?  It 
ain't  likely,  is  it,  now,  that  you  could  be  nursing 
some  other  reason?" 

"What  other  reason  could  I " 

"Then  you  pass  out  that  word  I"  Tom  threatened. 
"If  I  iind  that  you  hang  around  Dismal,  you  are 
chucked  from  this  job,  and  out  you  go.  We-all 
can't  afford  to  have  your  trip  postponed." 

Rex  Currie  had  taken  himself  in  hand,  and  now 
shrugged  his  shoulders  with  the  outward  show  of 
good  nature  that  had  made  him  so  successful  a  re- 
tailer of  blockade,  quite  as  though  he  had  not  been 
surprised  out  of  his  very  Intention. 

"Of  course,  Tom,  If  you  say  so " 

"And  Is  It  also  settled,"  inserted  the  girl,  "that 
I'm  to  trail  the  stranger  until  he  proves  himself  one 
way  or  tother?" 

"It  Is  that — plumb  settled!"  Tom's  tone  was 
final,  and  he  spared  Currie  a  last  antagonistic  glare 
that  closed  further  argument. 

With  appreciably  less  effort  than  she  had  ex- 
pected, Vernaluska  had  won  an  important  point  In 
her  campaign  of  safety  first.  She  had  persuaded 
her  parent,  the  most  rapacious  wolf  of  the  ridge 
where  revenue  suspects  were  concerned,  to  a  most 
unusual  course.  Her  suitor,  under  manipulation, 
not  only  had  defeated  his  own  ends,  but  actually  had 


SAFETY  FIRST  97 

helped  hers  by  accusing  her  of  an  ulterior  interest 
in  the  foreigner — let  her  thanks  excuse  him. 

Yet  now,  as  at  other  times,  she  suspected  more  in 
Rex  Currie  than  appeared  on  the  surface.  She  had 
seen  him  color,  then  turn  pale.  She  knew  his  tem- 
per— consequently  approved  when  he  showed  the 
ability  to  master  it.  But  before  to-night  she  had 
known  him  to  appear  pliant  when  his  will  was  taut. 

So  it  came  about  that  Calvin  Parker,  of  the 
Parkers,  was  granted  regional  reprieve  by  the  moun- 
tain girl.  So,  also,  it  came  about  that  Vernaluska 
Metcalf  decided  she  might  advisedly  watch  other 
than  the  stranger  to  justify  her  stand. 


CHAPTER  XI 

TEETOTALERS  TWO 

Several  adventures,  fruitless  so  far  as  concerned 
his  principal  appetite,  but  bearing  other  consequences 
of  moment,  came  heel-treading  after  Parker. 

Aroused  the  first  morning  of  his  stay  in  the  cabin 
by  sunrays  pouring  through  the  open  east  door,  he 
arose  betimes  and  managed  to  feed  himself  through 
certain  expedients  of  trail  cookery  almost  forgot. 
Invigorated  by  a  sleep  such  as  he  had  not  known  in 
months,  he  found  himself  impatient  to  explore  the 
vicinity  of  his  new  habitat. 

Along  a  path  that  led  into  the  "sticks"  from  be- 
hind the  cabin,  he  swung  with  a  certain  pleasure  in 
mere  activity  that  left  no  room  for  offense  at  the 
slap  of  an  occasional  laurel.  From  the  hard-pack 
of  the  trail,  he  decided  that  it  must  lead  somewhere, 
although  the  overgrowth  of  blackberry  vines,  whose 
green  runners  clung  to  his  boots,  scratched  his  put- 
tees, and  twice  tripped  him  almost  to  a  fall,  augered 
that  it  had  not  recently  been  traveled. 

But  "somewhere"  was  a  definite  enough  place  for 
the  Calvin  Parker  of  this  morning.  Somewhere, 
somehow,  somebody — such  indiscriminate  expres- 
sions might  have  been  used  to  describe  his  mood. 

Determination  to  win  against  his  enemy  of  cir- 
cumstances had  climbed  into  the  saddle  of  his  inten- 
tion.    Elbows  spurred  sides  since  there  was  no  cup 

98 


TEETOTALERS  TWO  99 

of  realization  toward  which  to  stretch  his  hands; 
parched  tongue  scourged  palate  as  a  quirt;  tighter 
grew  the  cinch  of  his  belt  against  the  inner  yearning 
for  fiery  draught. 

After  crossing  the  creek  by  way  of  a  toppled  tree 
foot-bridge,  he  struck  into  a  mountain  road  on  the 
other  side,  which  seemed  to  point  the  way  to  some 
human  habitation.  As  he  plunged  along  through 
the  mud,  there  came  to  him  a  new  grasp  of  the 
Ancient  Mariner's  classic  plaint: 

Water,  water  everj-where, 

And  all  the  boards  did  shrink; 

Water,  water  everj^vhere, 
Nor  any  drop  to  drink. 

But  color,  fire,  and  a  horse-power  "kick"  must 
be  the  components  of  the  water  he  craved.  No 
twinge  over  good  resolutions  forsworn  delayed  him. 
He  would  make  new  ones  afterward,  he  assured 
himself  In  an  uDsurge  of  amusement  at  his  own 
expense — make  many  others,  both  new  and  good, 
and  likely  break  them  later,  every  one. 

It  wasn't  himself,  anyhow,  who  had  proposed  that 
he  become  a  total  abstainer;  not  he  who  had  been 
most  ashamed  of  that  last  ghastly  night  in  New 
York.  He  had  a  chance  now  to  prove  that  he  was 
no  weakling;  that  he  could  be  the  sort  of  man  he 
liked  to  picture  himself.  No  combination  of  friends 
against  him — no,  not  even  little  Sylvia  and  Spencer 
Pope,  motive  powers  of  his  exile — might  settle  his 
fate  without  his  own  decisive  vote. 

Come  to  look  at  the  situation  In  this  clear,  strong 
light  of  the  Carolinas,  he  owed  It  to  himself  and 
the  Parkers  of  the  past  so  to  do.     He  would  defy 


loo     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

all  those  gratuitous  warnings;  would  wrest  from 
the  mountains  the  secret  location  of  the  spirituous 
enemy  he  was  at  last  to  make  his  friend;  would  pur- 
sue his  self-respecting  mission  along  a  path  of  ad- 
venture. 

In  a  forty-acre  corn-field,  he  shortly  came  upon 
the  humans  promised  by  the  road.  Behind  a  bull- 
tongued  plow,  hitched  to  a  wraith  of  a  horse,  a  be- 
whlskered  man  was  at  work.  His  feet  were  encased 
In  shapeless  chunks  of  mud,  his  legs  In  jeans  attached 
precariously  to  one  suspender,  his  upper  body  in  a 
hickory  shirt. 

Upon  Parker's  hail  the  native  drew  on  the  single 
rein  of  the  wither-wrung  beast  for  immediate  inac- 
tivity. Evidently  both  welcomed  any  excuse  for 
stopping  work;  at  any  rate,  both  gazed  at  the  ap- 
proaching interruption  with  vacuous  eyes.  They 
looked  a  good  deal  alike — weather-beaten,  slab- 
sided,  listless,  hungry. 

As  the  worker  of  the  perpendicular  farm  seemed 
uninspired  by  any  courtesy  of  meeting  a  stranger 
half-way,  Parker  advanced  toward  him  over  the  un- 
even going  and  went  through  the  form  of  scraping 
acquaintance  with  what  heartiness  he  could  com- 
mand. But  the  man  showed  no  joy  in  the  fact  that 
they  were  related  in  the  sacred  bonds  of  near-neigh- 
borship; the  expensive  Havana,  proffered  as  an  in- 
centive to  friendliness,  he  crumpled  between  both 
palms  and  used  to  replace  a  cud  already  in  his  mouth. 

"Perhaps  you  can  direct  me  to  the  best  place  for 
a  chap  with  a  full-grown  thirst  to  stock  his  wine- 
cellar?"  Parker  approached  the  subject  of  his  quest. 
"Now  that  the  State's  gone  dry,  they  tell  me  I  must 
apply  directly  to  the  mills  of  the  gods.     I've  been 


TEETOTALERS  TWO  loi 

told,  also,  that  several  such  are  located  nearby." 

For  a  moment  a  gleam  lit  the  countryman's  dull 
expression,  vitality  sounded  In  his  voice. 

"So  that's  it?  If  you-uns  be  asking  me  personal 
where  I  gets  mine — I  does  without.  My  woman 
don't  cotton  to  no  law-breaking  on  this  here  farm." 

He  jerked  a  thumb  up  the  hill,  over  the  knob  of 
which  an  apparition  in  skirts  had  appeared. 

'*But  if  you-uns  be  set  on  liquor  to  drink,"  the 
plowman  continued,  "Bide  Shortoff  cal'lates  you'd 
best  follow  that  crossroad  you  came  along  so  far  as 
Roaring  Fork — a  likely  two  mile.  You  just  might 
run  acrost  one  or  tother  of  them  Metcalfs  afore  you 
reached  their  hangout." 

With  elation  Parker  grasped  that  the  Metcalf 
place,  at  once  the  source  of  possible  supply  and  the 
home  of  the  girl  with  the  remarkable  shade  of  hair, 
was  within  walking  distance.  He  delivered  himself 
of  hearty  acknowledgement  and  recrossed  the  fur- 
rows to  the  road. 

As  he  swung  around  the  base  of  the  hill,  however, 
having  literally  accepted  the  advice  to  head  for 
Roaring  Fork,  he  found  himself  intercepted.  Bide 
Shortoff's  "woman"  had  slipslopped  hurriedly  across 
the  side  of  the  up-and-down  corn-patch  and  now 
faced  him,  arms  akimbo. 

Parker  doffed  his  fedora  and  waited  for  her  to 
speak.  Mentally  he  commented  on  what  a  fine  ex- 
ample she  looked  of  how  much  a  married  couple  may 
grow  in  likeness  from  association — perhaps,  rather, 
from  the  food  and  the  work.  She,  too,  was  flat- 
sided,  round-shouldered,  weather-burned  to  a  degree 
of  monotone  which  included  her  hair,  her  lips,  and 
the  one-piece  calico  slip  that  garbed  her. 


102     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

"Where  be  your  woman,  young  man?" 

The  query  startled  Parker,  not  only  of  Itself,  but 
also  because  of  the  musical,  minor-key  voice  in  which 
It  was  pitched. 

"Madam "    During    his    hesitant    reply    the 

bucolic  scene  was  obscured  by  a  flash  of  Sylvia  Brain- 
ard  as  he  last  had  seen  her,  exquisite,  reproachful, 
solicitous — "I  hold  no  legal  title  to  any  one  of  the 
fair.     Why  do  you  ask?" 

"Every  he-critter  had  ought  to  have  one  looking 
after  him.  Stranger,  you  was  asking  Abide-with-me 
Shortoff  where  to  find  bumblings  yerabouts?" 

Again  Parker  was  startled — startled  and  diverted. 
That  "Abide-with-me"  should  be  the  "given"  name 
of  any  benedick  seemed  at  the  moment  worth  his 
whole  trip  to  the  Blue  Ridge.  But  there  was  distinct 
threat  back  of  her  mellifluous  demand.  Under  spur 
of  the  moment,  he  decided  upon  dissimulation. 

"As  it  happens,  my  chat  with  your  husband  carried 
no  mention  of  bumblings,  although  I  judge  you're 
not  often  mistaken,  Mrs.  Shortoff." 

"Whatsoever  had  it  to  do  with — would  you-all 
just  as  leave  tell  me?" 

Parker  glanced  around  for  Inspiration,  saw  a 
sleek-looking  horse  grazing  In  a  green-splotched 
pasture  lot. 

"I  am  looking,"  he  admitted,  this  time  with  the 
impressment  of  truth,  "for  a  saddle-horse." 

"And  Bide  sent  you  away?"  The  suspicion  In 
her  question  was  for  him,  not  her  husband. 

"I  suppose,  madam,  that  he  did  not  wish  to  part 
with  any  of  the  family  horses.  One  becomes  so 
attached  to  beasts  about  the  home." 

"You  suppose  ?     Well,  /  don't !" 


TEETOTALERS  TWO  103 

That  so  much  contemptuous  derision  could  be  ex- 
pressed in  her  golden  drawl  seemed  incredible.  For 
a  moment  her  gaze  traveled  with  consideration  from 
him  to  the  green-splotched  field. 

"The  only  horse-brute  on  this  farm  that  can  be 
rid  belongs  to  me,"  she  said.  "What  you-all  got 
to  swap?" 

"Nothing  to  swap,"  Parker  apologized;  "that  is, 
nothing  except  cash." 

"Nothing  except  cash?  And  you-all  want  a 
horse?" 

From  her  hard  expression  he  feared  that  she  was 
going  to  refuse  any  consideration  of  his  proposal, 
but  she  soon  relieved  him.  Gripping  his  arm  with 
a  hand  that  trembled,  she  started  him,  with  herself, 
across  the  uptllted  corn-field  toward  the  pasture  lot. 

"Come  with  me.  Yan  he  stands,  as  fine  a  painted 
horse  as  ever  seen  the  Blue  Ridge." 

Along  the  way  she  returned  to  her  interrupted 
advice. 

"Stranger,  no  matter  where  Abide-with-me  Short- 
off  told  you  to  go  for  them  bumblings,  you-all  light 
tother  way.  He's  the  most  practised  tempter  in 
the  sticks,  if  I  do  say  it  about  my  old  man,  as 
shouldn't.  If  so  be  it  he's  done  directed  you  to  Met- 
calf's,  it's  only  to  make  trouble  for  all  concerned. 
Old  Tom's  as  contentious  as  a  gun.  He'll  maybe 
plug  you  through  for  spying,  and  Bide  for  turning 
your  nose  toward  Roaring  Fork." 

Despite  the  strength  of  her  assertions,  she  re- 
vealed weakness  In  her  closing  threat.  "And  leave 
me  tell  you  additional,  young  man,  don't  you  never 
come  back  this  way  with  no  jug  of  bumblings  to 
divvy  with  Bide,  unless  you  want  me  to  plug  what's 


104     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

left  of  you.  When  this  here  Carolina  went  dry,  one 
pore  sister  made  up  her  mind  that  one  husband  at 
least  was  going  to  cotton  to  the  law.  Fair  warning, 
stranger!" 

They  had  reached  the  horse,  which  looked  a  per- 
sonable animal  as  he  gave  over  grazing  to  contem- 
plate them,  his  head  held  a  little  to  one  side.  Well 
shaped  and  fed  he  was,  and  of  distinctive  markings: 
At  once  Mrs.  Shortoff  switched  to  the  subject  of  his 
excellencies. 

^'Attend  how  lavish  he  is  with  white  and  red 
spots  I  And  he's  better  than  he  looks,  sound  all 
through  and  well-mannered — as  good  a  stob  as  you 
could  find  In  a  handful  of  miles." 

''Suppose,"  suggested  Parker,  "that  you  talk  it 
over  with  Mr.  Shortoff  and  let  me  know  by  to- 
morrow what  you  will  take  for  your  horse." 

Uneasiness  showed  in  her  manner.  "Suppose  I 
don't.  Suppose  you-all  make  up  your  mind  here  and 
now.  Likely,  once  I  got  to  cogitating  on  how  much 
I  think  of  this  horse-brute,  I'd  plumb  refuse  to  swap 
him  for  any  of  that  cash  you  say  youVe  got." 

"In  blunt  terms,  then,  how  much  is  he  worth  to 
you?'^ 

The  woman  hesitated,  looked  distrustful  of  so 
ready  an  agreement. 

"It  ain't  a  matter  of  what  he's  worth  to  me.  I 
'spect  you  nor  nobody  would  be  agreeable  to  pay 
that.  But  if  you  haul  me  down  to  cash,  I'm  in  need 
of  fifty-nine  dollars  and  fifty  cents." 

It  was  Parker's  turn  to  be  suspicious.  Although 
he  was  not  a  practised  horseman,  the  price  seemed 
absurd — too  low  even  for  the  sticks.  What  was 
wrong  with  the  animal?    He  asked  himself. 


TEETOTALERS  TWO  105 

Walking  over,  he  made  a  more  thorough  exam- 
ination. There  was  no  doubt  that  the  beast  was 
''plumb  gentled,"  as  the  farm  woman  had  assured 
him.  Inspection  of  his  hoofs  showed  no  hint  of 
split;  his  hocks  were  clean;  there  were  none  of  the 
signs  of  glanders,  in  so  far  as  Parker  knew  them. 
A  sharp  rap  upon  his  rump  sent  him  across  the 
pasture  at  an  easy,  pain-free  lope,  testifying  to  no 
stiffness  of  joints.  There  seemed  no  reason  to 
change  first  impressions. 

The  owner  was  close  behind,  deepening  music 
in  her  drawl. 

"Being  as  you-all  are  a  furriner  and  just  naturally 
afeared  of  getting  burned,  Til  make  it  an  even  iifty- 
nme. 

Engaged  in  watching  the  movement  of  his  pro- 
spective purchase,  Parker  made  no  reply. 

"Bide's  saddle  and  bridle  ain't  in  no  bad  way," 
she  added,  "but  the  brute's  done  got  kind  of  used  to 
them,  so  Til  throw  them  in." 

"He  has  a  name,  I  suppose?"  Parker  asked,  after 
paying  her  the  cash. 

"I  suppose  he  has!  You  couldn't  make  him  an- 
swer to  no  other  if  you  tried  a  month  o'  Sundays. 
It  is" — she  paused  from  what  soon  proved  to  be 
inherent  dramatic  appreciation — "It  Is  Teetota- 
ler!" 

Not  until  returning  from  a  fruitless  search  along 
Roaring  Fork  did  Parker  Indulge  his  sense  of  the 
ludicrous.  In  the  midst  of  a  laugh,  however,  he 
stopped  because  he  was  annoyed.  Then,  appre- 
ciating why  he  felt  so,  he  resumed  the  laugh. 

He,  who  had  set  forth  so  determinedly  that  mom- 
mg  to  possess  himself  of  a  goodly  supply  of  the 


io6     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

region's  Illicit  brew,  was  hitting  the  back  trail  with- 
out it,  astride  an  animal  named  Teetotaler! 

For  comfort  he  turned  to  congratulate  himself  on 
having  out-hoss-swapped  a  Carolinian,  when  the  re- 
turn of  the  "critter's"  stubborn  propensity  to  veer 
toward  the  upside  of  the  road  interested  him. 

Soon  suspicion  replaced  Interest.  Dismounting, 
he  went  to  the  horse's  head,  removed  his  hat,  held 
It  first  before  the  right  eye,  then  the  left.  The  up- 
hill one  blinked,  the  other  did  not. 

The  sudden  rage  of  the  man  who  first  realizes 
himself  outwitted  rushed  through  him  who  had  re- 
ceived the  benefits  due  a  "furriner."  So  that  was 
why  Mrs.  Shortoff  needed  only  fifty-nine  dollars  and 
fifty  cents — reason  enough  to  cut  off  the  centimes  and 
throw  In  the  worn  equipment!  That  was  why  her 
horse  grazed,  while  Bides'  toiled  before  the  plow! 
The  mare,  although  a  scarecrow  for  looks,  at  least 
could  keep  to  the  furrows! 

As  he  rode  farther,  however,  and  found  that 
bridle  vigilance  enabled  the  animal  to  hold  almost 
in  the  center  of  the  road,  amusement  dispersed  rage. 
He  must  not  blame  the  horse — none  would  prefer 
the  misfortune.  The  whole  circumstance  was 
divertingly  ironic.  His  new  mount's  name  was  Tee- 
totaler, yes.  But  he  was  blind  in  one  eye.  He 
could  not  go  straight ! 


CHAPTER  XII 

FROM  AMBUSH 

The  sensations  of  a  sunrise  awakening  were  new 
to  Calvin  Parker.  He  felt  like  a  pioneer  In  some 
unexplored  world  as  he  strode  to  the  front  door  and 
gazed  at  the  nature  study  spread  before  him,  bright- 
colored  and  moist,  as  from  wet  paint. 

That  his  pinto  and  the  squirrels  were  already  astir 
filled  him  with  a  sort  of  indignation.  Yet  why 
shouldn't  they  be?  Their  precedent  had  dictated 
the  hour  of  his  retirement  after  supper  last  night 
when,  tired  by  the  carpenter's  job  of  making  horse- 
habitable  the  shed  at  the  rear  of  the  cabin,  he  had 
found  that  he  could  not  read,  could  not  even  smoke. 

But,  this  early  morning,  vigor  swept  through  his 
veins,  while  thoughts  to  match  breezed  In  his  brain. 
He  would  demonstrate  that  his  quest,  which  had 
seemed  all-important  the  day  before,  could  be  forced 
Into  secondary  place  to-day.  He  would  stay  at 
home  and  paint  during  the  morning,  postponing  his 
excursion  Into  the  Metcalf  stronghold  until  after- 
noon. 

A  man  should  attend  his  work  before  seeking 
pleasure.  Liquor,  which  he  had  allowed  in  the 
past  to  get  the  better  of  him.  In  the  future  should  be 
a  mere  incident  In  his  pleasure.  "The  mead  that 
cheered" — cheer  was  its  of&ce  rather  than  corrup- 
tion. 

107 


io8     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

He  congratulated  himself  that  moral  strength  was 
coming  to  him  as  rapidly  as  physical  In  this  vital 
mountain  air.  He  realized  and  pardoned  as  entirely 
justifiable  a  great  pride  in  his  self-control.  It  was 
only  that  which  he  had  lacked  all  along. 

After  toasting  these  commendable  sentiments  in 
strong  coffee,  he  planted  Teetotaler's  picket-pin  in 
a  plot  of  tall  grass  near  by,  then  assorted  the  para- 
phernalia of  his  art.  A  goodly  piece  of  canvas  he 
cut  from  his  roll  and  stretched  upon  a  frame 
with  four  thumb-tacks.  His  easel  was  soon  put  to- 
gether. 

An  hour  after  rising  found  him  astride  a  folding- 
chair on  the  edge  of  Falloway  Rim  just  to  the  left  of 
the  cabin.  Without  the  restriction  of  a  drawing,  he 
was  transferring  the  oils  from  palette  to  canvas  in 
an  impressionistic  reproduction  of  the  colorful  scene. 
In  it  had  become  pictured  his  strong  thoughts  about 
himself;  the  dews,  still  dripping,  baptized  it  "Early 
to  Rise." 

From  the  branches  of  the  huge  armored  pine 
which  helped  form  the  frame  of  the  cabin,  a  pair  of 
squirrels  with  progeny  still  nested,  whom  on  earlier 
acquaintance  he  had  addressed  as  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Boomer,  defied  the  laws  of  gravity  in  descent.  Per- 
haps in  appreciation  of  the  hand-cooked  breakfasts  he 
had  shared  with  them,  perhaps  because  they  expected 
further  provender  from  the  appetizing  piles  on  the 
palette,  they  perked  their  tufted  heads  this  way  and 
that,  chattering  as  though  in  favorable  comment, 
for  all  the  world  like  the  human  pretenders  so  in- 
evitable in  city  galleries.  Out  of  all  proportion  to 
their  size,  they  subtracted  from  the  solitude. 

For  a  couple  of  hours  Parker  painted,  pleased  that 


FROM  AMBUSH  109 

he  should  be  at  work  again,  Inspired  to  excel.  But 
there  was  a  green  that  he  tried  for  in  vain  from  the 
tubes  of  his  assortment — the  pale  yet  potential  green 
of  sunlight  on  laurel,  shafted  through  the  deepest 
shadow.  He  arose  and  stepped  back  to  study  his 
latest  experiment  with  dissatisfied  eyes. 

Suddenly  he  leaped  aside.  The  report  of  a  gun- 
shot had  shattered  the  quiet.  A  black  spot  near 
the  upper  left-hand  thumbtack  told  that  a  bullet  had 
pierced  the  frame  of  his  stretcher.  As  he  edged 
toward  the  more  substantial  cover  of  the  armored 
pine,  he  realized  that  only  his  attempt  at  the  elusive 
green  had  removed  him  in  time. 

Scarcely  had  he  gained  such  shelter  as  the  tree 
afforded,  feeling  painfully  large  and  conspicuous, 
when  a  second  shot  spat  from  the  unseen  gun,  a  third, 
an  instant  fourth. 

In  the  anxious  silence  that  ensued,  his  vital  con- 
cern over  the  integrity  of  his  owm  hide  was  somewhat 
alloyed  by  the  observation  that,  in  these  last  shots 
at  least,  his  work  had  been  aimed  at,  rather  than 
himself.  The  edge  of  the  upper  right-hand  tack 
had  been  dinted;  the  left-hand  one  had  been  missed 
entirely,  as  testified  by  a  black  pt)lka-dot  a  half-inch 
below  it;  the  fourth  had  been  hit  so  squarely  that 
the  canvas  v/as  cut  from  the  board  and  curled 
inward. 

With  an  imprecation,  Parker  turned  and  peered 
about.  If  his  mortal  career  was  to  end,  it  would  be 
now,  since  he  could  not  achieve  Invisibility.  But  in 
the  laurel  bushes  that  entirely  screened  the  cabin  and 
shed,  nothing  was  seen  to  move,  save  the  general, 
gentle  flutter  of  the  foliage.  Not  the  faintest  trace 
of  smoke  could  he  discern  and  no  guidance  could  be 


no     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

hoped  from  the  squirrels.     They  had  wisely  disap- 
peared. 

Substantiated  In  the  theory  that  the  immediate 
exaction  of  his  life  was  not  the  object  of  the  interrup- 
tion, he  spent  the  next  half-hour  systematically  flay- 
ing the  brush  and  searching  for  tracks.  He  was 
urged  by  a  review  of  the  several  warnings  he  had 
received  since  his  somewhat  precipitate  arrival  in 
Dismal  Gap.  Was  this  last  a  warning,  too,  he  asked 
himself? 

Flouted  in  the  discovery  of  any  trace  which  he 
could  assume  to  have  been  made  by  a  prowler,  he 
decided  on  artifice.  Returning  to  the  easel,  he  gath- 
ered up  the  canvas,  folded  easel  and  camp-chair,  re- 
turned to  the  cabin,  entered  by  the  front  door.  The 
rear  one  stood  open.  With  scarcely  a  pause  to  de- 
posit his  paraphernalia  upon  the  cot,  he  seized  his 
rifle  and  hurried  out  the  back  in  time  to  see  a  dis- 
turbance of  the  underbrush,  as  of  some  one  ap- 
proaching to  settle  in  ambush. 

Without  waiting  to  count  the  cost,  he  rushed  the 
laurel  and  threw  himself  flat  on  the  ground.  The 
crash  of  a  precipitate  retreat  rewarded  him, 
although  he  could  see  nothing  ahead  but  green. 
Pressing  closely  after  the  crackling  of  brush  and 
thud  of  footfalls  upon  log  or  hard-pan,  he  plunged 
In  reckless  pursuit.     But  not  for  long. 

A  sudden  cessation  of  noise  ahead  brought  him 
to  a  standstill.     His  quarry  must  have  side-stepped, 
perhaps  had  swung  beyond  pursuit  of  his  ears  Into  ; 
the  low-hanging  boughs. 

Exasperated,  he  began  to  beat  the  bush,  this  way  ' 
and  that,  back  and  forth,  determined  to  flush  the 
disturber  of  his  morning's  work.     He  would  not  be  : 


FROM  AMBUSH  in 

ridiculed  that  way,  he  assured  himself,  with  the  ve- 
hemence of  his  unwonted  bodily  energy.  Whoever 
had  aimed  those  impertinent  bullets  into  the  four 
corners  of  his  canvas  was  going  to  account  to  him. 

He  had  need  of  persistence.  Nothing  whatever 
came  of  the  bush-beating,  not  the  faintest  sound  of 
any  retreat,  although  several  times  he  stopped  short 
and  held  his  breath  for  intensive  listening. 

Perspiring  from  mental  as  well  as  physical  tem- 
perature, he  dropped  off  a  cut-bank  to  rest  and  think. 
There  he  found  himself  face  to  face  with  a  humor- 
ous-eyed white  mule — a  white  mule  with  red  legs, 
tied  to  the  rhododendron  copse. 

*'Say,  you  didn't  fire  those  shots?"  he  asked  aloud, 
returning  the  look. 

The  beast  continued  to  stare  at  him,  his  elongated 
features  solemn,  absolutely  non-committal.  By  not 
so  much  as  a  twitch  of  lip  or  ear  did  he  acknowledge 
the  demand. 

A  rush  of  light  came  to  Parker.  Association  of 
ideas  led  him  to  conclusion.  White  mule  with  red 
legs — girl  of  wondrous  hair — Metcalf  place  near- 

by-- 

A  queer  way  to  greet  an  Inoffensive  tourist  whom 
once  she  had  befriended,  unto  whom  she  had  min- 
istered by  washing  his  face  and  ears  I  Why  should 
she  wish  to  demonstrate  her  marksmanship  by  punc- 
turing the  tacks  of  the  canvas  upon  which  he  was 
at  work — ^upon  which  he  was  painting  what  bade 
fair  to  be  a  masterpiece? 

He  had  this  and  a  few  other  questions  to  ask  Miss 
Vernaluska  Metcalf  and  he  intended  to  ask  them, 
even  if  she  had  evaded  him  in  the  woods  by  super- 
craft,  he  assured  himself.     She  would  answer,  he 


(112     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

guessed — that  is,  unless  she  preferred  to  walk  home ! 

"Put  them  up,  stranger  I" 

This  pithy  interruption  rewarded  a  tedious  cam- 
paign of  waiting  on  the  part  of  the  man — Mr. 
Hybrid  hadn't  seemed  to  mind. 

The  voice  was  that  of  the  girl  who  had  put  Tobe 
Riker  in  his  place — there  could  be  no  doubt  of  it, 
although  no  one  substantiated  the  conclusion  in 
person. 

Her  command  had  been  specific  enough.  Even 
Parker,  unused  to  such,  had  no  doubt  what  was 
meant  by  "them."  He  did  drop  his  weapon  and 
raise  one  hand,  but  only  to  lift  his  velour  fedora, 
wave  it  toward  the  bush  in  general,  then  lay  it  on 
the  bank  beside  him. 

"Howdy-do,  Miss  Metcalf?  Been  there  all 
along?     Come  on  out." 

When  she  appeared  from  the  thickest  of  the  rho- 
dodendron clumps,  he  understood  better  how  she 
had  eluded  him.  Her  dress  was  green;  in  fact, 
almost  that  pale,  potential  shade  for  which  he 
had  been  trying  when  the  first  shot  had  inter- 
rupted. 

The  perception  impressed  him.  Above  the  ging- 
iham,  her  hair,  from  which  she  had  removed  her 
hat,  flushed  in  the  sunlight  with  something  the  effect 
of  the  early  rhododendron  flowers  atop  the  green 
plants. 

"You  appear  to  enjoy  Solomon's  company,"  she 
said.     ^Tm  hungry." 

Parker's  resentful  expression  eased  at  the  sight  of 
hers. 

"Oh,  Solomon  and  I  get  along  all  right.  You 
see,  Pm  sort  of  wise  myself  in  my  day  and  degenera- 


FROM  AMBUSH  113 

tion.  Now  that  you  mention  It,  I'm  sort  of  hungry, 
too." 

^'Leastwise,  not  so  you  can't  control  it,"  she 
snapped.  "Why  have  you  been  sitting  guard  on 
my  mule?" 

^'Curiosity,  my  dear  young  woman — curiosity 
given  endurance  by  an  even  stronger  thing  or  two." 
Parker  had  arisen  at  her  emergence  from  cover.  "It 
may  seem  a  small  matter  to  you,  but  self-respect 
compels  me  to  ask  why  you  shot  holes  into  all  four 
corners  of  my  picture." 

"I  didn't  hurt  it  none." 

"You  didn't  exactly  ruin  it,  no.  But  do  you  think 
it  was  very  nice  to  interrupt  a  harmless  artist  at 
work  in  that — er — emphatic  way?" 

A  suggestion  of  a  dimple  wavered  into  her  cheek 
as  she  proposed:  "Any  audience  has  got  a  right  to 
express  itself,  ain't  it?     I  was — was  hissing  you." 

"Hissing?     But  why?" 

"Because  I  don't  like  your  picture  nohow,  that's 
why!  Now  that  your  self-respect  is  attended,  I'll 
be  wishing  you  good  morning." 

With  this  vixenish  addendum,  she  started  toward 
the  mule.  But  Parker  claimed  her  consideration 
with  several  more  demands. 

"My  self-respect  isn't  properly  attended.  Hav- 
ing said  that  much,  you  owe  it  both  to  yourself  and 
me  to  say  more.  You  shot  up  my  picture  be- 
cause you  didn't  like  It?  Why  don't  you  like 
it?" 

"It  is  a  picture  of  nature  that  ain't  natural." 

"How  could  you  know — that  Is,  how  could  you  see 
its  detail  at  such  a  distance?" 

She  sniffed,  probably  incensed  anew  by  his  cor- 


114     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

rected  Insinuation  that  she  was  no  fit  critic  of  his 
work. 

"Oh,  I  slipped  up  plenty  close  enough  to  see  that 
picture.  I  could  have  seen  It  a  quarter-mile,  likely, 
the  way  you  were  wasting  good  paint.  Why  didn't 
you  fling  it  on  with  a  palette-knife?" 

The  question  caught  his  attention  even  above  his 
resentment.     He  took  a  more  persuasive  start: 

^'Perhaps  you  don't  know.  Miss  Metcalf,  that  my 
method  with  that  landscape  Is  one  highly  approved 
by  an  ultra-modern  school.  They  hope  to  make  the 
present-day  age  of  art  distinctive  for  its  specializa- 
tion. One  thing  in  every  picture,  they  think,  is 
enough  to  emphasize.  As  a  quick  means  to  a  super- 
brilliant  end,  It  Is " 

^'Perhaps,"  she  mimicked,  putting  full  weight  on 
his  didactic  tone,  "I  understand  what  you  mean  with- 
out your  putting  yourself  out  further." 

^Tm  sure  you'd  have  liked  my  effort  better,"  he 
continued,  "had  you  known  the  name  to  which  I  was 
painting  it — 'Early  to  Rise.'  " 

*'  'Early  to  Rise,"  was  it?  Say,  you-all  had  best 
get  up  earlier  next  time!" 

She  had  the  additional  unklndness  to  vent  a  small, 
lilting  laugh. 

"Well,  of  all  the  unmitigated "  The  Indig- 
nation of  the  artist  from  the  world  outside  started 
to  boil  over;  then,  because  In  his  work  he  was  always 
ready  to  learn,  he  turned  off  the  fire.  "I  wish  you 
would  tell  me,"  he  said,  "why  my  picture  offended 
you  Into  shooting  bullets  at  it.  /  thought  it  rather 
good." 

She  showed  herself  reached  by  his  good-natured 
appeal. 


FROM  AMBUSH  115 

*'I  don't  mind  If  you  don't,"  she  smiled.  "As  a 
student  of  these  mountains,  I  felt  It  my  plumb  duty 
to  stop  you.  You  could  shovel  on  the  paint  to  copy 
SImms's  calico  counter,  or  anything  m^ade  by  man, 
or  even  folks — who  generally  look  a  heap  like  what 
they-all  make  of  themselves — and  I  wouldn't  have 
a  nary  word  to  say.  But  when  you  set  about  making 
a  freak  out  of  Nature " 

She  paused  a  moment,  studying  him  speculatively, 
as  If  to  determine  whether  there  could  be  any  good 
In  him,  then  went  on : 

"Do  you  know.  It  always  appears  to  me  like  God- 
a-mlghty  must  have  taken  particular  pains  tinting 
the  Blue  Ridge,  knowing  He'd  use  It  for  a  place  to 
rest  His  spirit  In.  Can't  you  see  how  everything 
IS  blended  proper,  with  a  nary  splotch  around? 
Sometimes  I  lie  down  on  the  moss  and  shut  my  eyes. 
Then  I  forget  sight,  feel  only  sound.  The  whole 
range  kind  of  sings  songs  to  me,  sometimes  sad  and 
sometimes  chlrky,  according  to  the  w^eather,  but 
never  loud.  Every  rock  and  every  flower  and  every 
leaf  is  singing,  singing  along;  but  no  voice  ever 
raises  loud  or  discordant  above  the  rest.  It's  just 
grand  and  smooth — like  religion!  Of  course  you 
can't  ever  touch  It  In  paint,  but  why  don't  you  try, 
painter  man — why  don't  you  tryT'' 

The  girl  had  lost  all  diffidence  In  the  course  of  her 
speech;  her  eyes  held  steadily  on  his;  her  face  was 
aglow.  In  her  dress  of  Indeterminate  green,  backed 
by  the  deeper-hued  bushes,  her  hair  an  aureole  of 
spun  copper,  she  made  an  Impression  upon  the  color 
convert  to  which  he  perforce  bent  the  knee.  She  was 
a  strange  creature  and  really  beautiful,  he  told  him- 
self.    She  had  not  a  bad  feature.     Probably  her 


ii6     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

skin,   beneath  the   freckles   and  tan,   was   the   thin 
porcelain  that  went  with  her  hair. 

The  truth  In  her  criticism  of  what  now  looked 
plainly  a  faddish,  tawdry  effort  humbled  him,  awoke 
a  sort  of  gratitude  In  him  for  her  Interruption, 
to  replace  the  pique  he  had  shown.  He  had  seen 
red  so  long — nothing  but  red,  red,  red — perhaps  he 
had  grown  dense  to  subtler  effects. 

But  before  he  could  express  himself,  her  mood 
changed.  A  hostile  look  conquered  that  of  exulta- 
tion as  she  remembered. 

"If  you-all  don't  mind,  IVe  got  an  engagement  now 
— a  pressing  engagement  to  meet  a  square  meal." 

"Won't  you  take  lunch  with  me?"  Parker  ex- 
claimed eagerly.  "My  larder  Is  well  stocked  with 
things  warranted  by  the  labels  to  cook  In  a  jifty." 

"Thank  you,"  she  refused  curtly,  "but  I've 
brought  my  own  chunk." 

Forthwith  she  began  untying  a  small  parcel  from 
the  saddle  of  Solomon.  This  she  opened;  from  It 
produced  a  tin  cup,  a  pair  of  sandwiches,  a  thick 
slice  of  cake  with  nut-studded  frosting,  and  two  red- 
cheeked,  comely  apples. 

She  started  toward  the  creek  with  the  cup,  but 
Parker  Intercepted  her. 

"You  will  allow  me,"  he  Insisted  over  her  protest. 

When  he  returned  with  It  dripping,  he  found  her 
seated,  energetically  undertaking  one  of  the  sand- 
wiches. As  she  accepted  the  cup,  with  an  embar- 
rassed nod  for  his  courtesy,  she  said: 

"I  *spect  you-all  think  It  would  be  turn-about  for 
me  to  ask  you  to  share  my  grub.'* 

"There  looks  to  be  plenty,"  he  encouraged. 

"There  Is  a-plenty,  but " 


FROM  AMBUSH  117 

"I  should  be  delighted."  Parker  accepted  with 
his  best  manner  and  started  to  seat  himself  on  the 
bank.  He  straightened,  however,  on  her  exclama- 
tion: 

*'Don'tyou  sit  down  beside  me — I  ain't  asked  you 
yet!" 

*'But  you're  going  to,  aren't  you?" 

"That's  the  point;  I'm  not."  She  returned 
viciously  to  the  sandwich. 

*'I  couldn't  let  even  a  dog  stand  around  as  hungry 
as  I  am,  and  not  offer  him  a  crust.  I  don't  eat  so 
much  as  most  men — could  do  with  very  little." 

*'Folks  had  ought  to  be  friendly  before  they 
break  bread  together." 

"iVnd  aren't  we  that — friendly?" 

Parker  tried  for  a  very  hungry  expression  as  he 
glanced  from  the  food  to  her,  from  her  back  to  the 
food.  He  realized  as  he  had  not  done  before  that 
he  was  starved  for  companionship. 

*'Surely  not."  The  auburn  lashes  lifted  from  a  nice 
selection  of  the  best  biting-place  in  an  apple  cheek. 
They  revealed  a  sneer  in  the  fawn-colored  eyes. 
**rm  right  glad  that  my  manners  didn't  get  the  best 
of  me  and  make  me  ask  you  to  lunch.  There  ain't 
any  particular  reason  why  I  should  eat  with  a  slick/* 

Her  culminative  vehemence  made  Parker  gasp; 
then  chuckles  began  to  agitate  him. 

"Fve  enjoyed  that  joke  before,"  he  murmured  be- 
tween laughs,  *'but  it  never  grows  tiresome.  You'll 
have  to  pardon  me,  but — but " 

The  girl  made  no  remark.  She  sat  and  watched 
him,  eating  energetically  the  while,  as  though  in  de- 
vouring the  last  crumb  of  the  luncehon  which  he  had 
elected  to  divide  she  could  most  teUingly  express  her 


ii8     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

disapproval  of  him  and  his  unseemly  levity  over 
a  subject  so  serious  to  her. 

She  had  swallowed  the  last  bite,  had  mounted,  and 
was  heading  out  of  the  copse,  when  he  first  seemed 
to  realize  that  she  was  going. 

*'0h,  I  say,  Miss  Metcalf,  wait  a  minute!"  he 
cried,  springing  up  and  following  her.  "If  you'll 
let  me  explain  how  ridiculous  it  Is '* 

"I  reckon  my  funny-bone  ain't  so  sharp  as  yours, 
stranger.'* 

He  caught  the  bridle  and  tried  to  stop  the  mule, 
but  was  forced  to  deliver  his  further  remarks  on  the 
move.  Solomon  proceeded  to  demonstrate  that  he 
was  w^Ise  enough  to  recognize  but  one  master. 

Parker,  his  arm  around  the  mule's  neck,  stumbled 
backward,  facing  the  girl  with  the  one-sided,  winning 
smile  that  had  gained  the  day  for  him  with  so  many 
women  of  his  past. 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't  call  me  stranger.  I've  met 
you  twice  before,  and  your  father  once,  to  say 
nothing  of  knowing  many  of  your  acquaintances — 
Asa  SImms,  the  Plotts,  and  others  In  the  village." 

"  'Pears  to  me  you  have  met  too  many  already." 

"But  why  not,  when  I  have  come  to  your  moun- 
tains entirely  on  my  own  initiative,  just  to  have  a 
nice,  peaceable  time?  Naturally  I  expected  folks 
to  treat  me  in  a  nice,  peaceable  way.  I  am  used 
even  to  being  liked,  Miss  Metcalf,  and  I  had  hoped 
that  you " 

"Ain't  that  why  they  sent  you,  maybe?"  she  sug- 
gested. 

"Nobody  sent  me,  except Do  stop  this  stiff- 
necked,  forty-horse-power  whippet,  and  let  me  get 
breath  enough  to  explain!" 


FROM  AMBUSH  119 

*'I  'spect  you  haven't  noticed,"  she  said  cuttingly, 
*'that  I  am  in  something  of  a  hurry?  Git  ep,  Solo- 
mon!" 

At  the  aversion  In  her  voice  and  face,  Parker  re- 
leased his  hold  of  her  mount  and  stopped.  From 
the  middle  of  the  stream,  where  he  found  himself, 
soaked  to  the  knees,  he  stood  looking  after  her. 

^Tm  coming  over  to  make  a  call  on  you  at 
Roaring  Fork,"  he  threatened  in  lifted  voice. 

*'Don't  you  dare !  Haven't  you-all  got  any  man- 
ners, to  call  on  a  lady  when  you  ain't  asked?" 

*'But  I'm  coming  to  call  on  your  father.  I  feel 
sure  he'll  be  fair  enough  to  listen  to  me.  I  shall 
hope,  however,  to  have  the  pleasure " 

''Don't  you  hope  for  any  such  unlikely  thing!"  At 
last  she  had  turned,  a  vehement  note  in  her  tones. 
"You  won't  find  your  kind  of  pleasure  on  Roaring 
Fork,  Mr.  Parker  of  New  York,  and  you  will  find 
what's  worse.     Don't  you  come — I  warn  you!" 

She  heel-urged  Solomon  Into  a  sudden  sprint  of 
speed.     LIckety-split,  they  were  gone. 

Parker  stood  for  several  seconds  longer  In  the 
stream,  contemplating  the  agitation  of  the  branches 
through  which  she  had  disappeared.  His  ears  felt 
hot,  his  breath  was  coming  hard.  He  realized  that 
he  was  very  angry.  What  an  overbearing,  regard- 
less disposition  she  had,  the  green-clad  quarry  whom 
he  had  thought  fairly  trapped!  Never  had  he  vatt 
such  insolence  from  a  woman,  even  when  he  was  at 
fault,  as  he  certainly  was  not  In  this  Instance. 

Very  well,  he  would  not  call  on  her,  since  she  had 
forbidden  It.  He  would  leave  her  to  wonder  and  wait 
in  vain.  But,  even  though  not  the  revenuer  she  had 
Insisted  him,  he  would  find  a  way  to  the  Metcalf  still. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

DROPS  OF  FIRE 

By  the  time  Cal  Parker's  next  morning  stint  with 
the  brush  had  been  executed,  a  new  resolve  was 
added  to  those  lately  made.  Not  only  must  he 
prove  himself  to  himself;  also  he  must  convince  the 
blockaders  that  he  was  a  wet  customer,  rather  than 
the  dry  avenger  they  thought  him.  In  so  doing,  he 
would  make  the  popskull  popper's  daughter  forget 
her  ornery  attitude  toward  himself  and  his  work. 

There  wasn't  a  doubt  that  he  could  get  and  give 
"references."  There  were  certain  bar  clerks,  wine 
agents,  and  hotel  managers  of  the  "biggest"  town 
who  doubtless  would  vouch  for  him  as  a  customer. 
Why,  he  might  even  add  a  psychopathist  or  tv/o  for 
good  measure,  and  the  recommendation  of  a  six 
week's  sojourn  at  Professor  William  Huntoon's 
**health  farm."  Since  it  was  for  money  that  block- 
ade was  distilled  and  the  double-outlaw  risk  run,  with 
money  he  ought  to  be  able  to  buy  up  any  resentment 
over  his  victory. 

As  a  plan  of  Immediate  action,  he  would  follow 
the  road  in  the  westerly  direction  of  Abide-with-me 
Shortoff's  tip.  He  would  begin  a  thorough  search 
of  the  entire  region  about  the  Metcalf  lair. 

In  good  spirit  with  his  problem  and  himself,  Calvin 
Parker  set  forth.  No  fear  that  his  mount  would  lead 
back  to  the  Shortoff  place  tightened  his  hold  on  the 

120 


DROPS  OF  FIRE  121 

rein.  He  had  become  convinced  on  that  first  ride 
home  that  Teetotaler's  bias  gate  would  never  fulfill 
any  definite  intention  of  the  horse-mind.  Indeed, 
so  certain  was  he  of  this  that  he  spoke  in  out-loud 
companionship: 

"There  are  things  about  you,  old  boss,  that  might 
Interfere  with  a  rider  of  a  less  philosophic  trend 
than  I.  But  me  it  gratifies  to  ponder  that,  no  matter 
how  progressive  may  be  your  ideas,  you'd  only  run 
in  circles  if  given  your  head.  You're  hopelessly  lop- 
sided, Tee.  To  get  anywhere  you  need  the  guidance 
Oi  two-eyed  intelligence.  That's  me,  you  must 
understand — Cal  Parker,  at  last  seeing  things  with 
both  lamps  wide!" 

The  roads  were  few,  but  the  trails  devious.  For 
two  hours  and  more  the  mud-heavy  hoofs  carried 
mount  and  man  through  a  dripping  wilderness.  The 
break  In  the  monotony  was  a  relief  when  Teetotaler 
stopped  short,  threw  up  his  head,  evidenced  that  he 
at  least  had  full  use  of  both  ears. 

The  sound  which  had  startled  the  horse  loudened 
In  approach — a  husky  human  voice  chanting  a  weird 
melody.  Parker  drew  rein  and  waited  where  the 
mud-trail  made  a  sharp  turn  around  a  clump  of 
alders.  Greatly  to  his  surprise,  as  well  as  to  his 
interest,  the  singer  proved  to  be  his  first  adviser  in 
Dismal  Gap,  Cotton  Eye  Lee. 

At  recognition,  the  black  seemed  moved  chiefly  by 
fright. 

"Get  you  behind  me,  cap'n!"  he  exclaimed,  both 
hands  upraised,  as  If  In  defense. 

On  finding  his  path  effectively  blocked  by  a  side- 
wise  presentation  of  the  pinto,  he  turned  and  began 
scuttling  along  the  backward  trail. 


122     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

*'Hold  up,  Cotton  I  There's  somewhat  I  wish  to 
say  to  you !  You  were  friendly  enough  on  starting 
back  to  Dismal  the  other  day.  Did  you  decide 
afterward  that  the  recompense  wasn't  sufficient?" 

*'Laws,  no  I     But  I'm  a  changed  nigger  since." 

*Tou  don't  look  It." 

The  white-flecked  eyeball  rolled,  as  also  the  soot- 
dark  one.  ^'Changed  In  my  heart,  cap'n.  I  was 
dry  as  a  hunk  of  charcoal  then;  now  It's  as  much  as 
my  life's  worth  to  mention  sap  to  you,  not  speaking 
of  my  job." 

Parker  was  doubly  Interested.  Out  of  considera- 
tion for  the  nerves  of  his  quondam  black  guide,  he 
rode  nearer  and  lowered  his  voice. 

*'What  Is  this  job,  and  who  started  the  irrigation 
of  your  arid  veins?" 

^'Irrigation?"  murmured  Cotton  Eye,  fascinated, 
despite  his  fear.  "Old  Tom  Metcalf  finds  he  can't 
get  along  without  my  Irrigation,  so  he  sends  Rex 
Currie  to  pry  me  off'n  Colonel  Dry  Dryden.  When 
that  sure-enough  devil  sets  himself  to  pry  anybody 

off'n   anything But,   say,   cap'n,   I   got  to  be 

shanking  It  along!" 

The  New  Yorker  was  of  another  mind.  With 
some  ostentation  and  just  In  time  to  catch  the  tall 
of  the  negro's  glance,  he  produced  a  bill-fold  from 
his  pocket,  selected  from  Its  thick  contents  a  crisp 
five-dollar  note. 

"Your  Inherent  discernment  should  have  told  you 
that  there  is  no  harm  In  me,"  he  began  grandiosely. 
"This  token  in  my  hand  as  well  as  others  in  my 
pocket  ought  to  convince  you  that  there's  a  whole  lot 
of  good.  If  they  have  told  you  to  beware  of  me  as 
a  revenuer.  Cotton  Eye,  they  have  basely  imposed 


DROPS  OF  FIRE  123 

upon  the  credulity  which  in  you  is  so — so — I  might 
say,  so  circumambient." 

"You-all  might — that's  plumb  right,  cap'n.  My 
own  mother  couldn't  never  deny  but  what  I'm  mighty 
circumambient,"  Interjected  the  black,  both  fingers 
and  ears  twitching  from  cupidity. 

**What  I'd  like  to  exchange  this  token  for  Is  what 
I  wanted  that  first  day  down  in  Dismal  Gap  and 
failed  to  get  from  Postmaster  SImms — a  quart  of 
bottled  kick  for  my  stomach's  sake." 

The  mental  struggle  of  the  negro  was  obvious. 
He  blinked  vigorously  In  his  regard  of  the  bank-note. 
He  took  a  step  forward.  His  hands  clutched  the 
air.  Then  an  Imagined  sound  In  the  woods  broke 
temptation's  spell.  Whirling  about  In  the  mud,  he 
began  a  precipitate  retreat,  sputtering  protestations 
as  he  went. 

To  Parker  his  words  came  back  disjointedly. 

"Get  behind  me,  cap'n.  See  you-all  negotiate 
yourself  on  yon  side  of  the  creek.  I  ain't  taking 
anything  away  from  you,  and  I  ain't  bringing  any- 
thing back." 

With  shuffling  gait  he  was  gone — gulped  by  the 
brush. 

Astride  Teetotaler,  pursuit  looked  unfeasible 
to  Parker.  He  seriously  doubted,  furthermore, 
whether  the  entire  collection  of  bills  in  his  wallet 
would  overcome  the  black's  primal  craving.  He 
must  use  his  persuasions  upon  some  one  higher  in 
the  protectorate  of  the  illicit  traffic  before  he  could 
hope  to  obtain  the  wherewithal  for  the  test  of  his 
reform. 

Judging  it  to  be  a  full  hour  before  dark,  he  de- 
cided to  continue  "projecting."     The  more  of  neigh- 


124     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

boring  area  he  covered,  the  less  there  would  remain 
for  to-morrow. 

Perhaps  half  an  hour  later,  the  piebald's  unshod 
feet,  padding  soundlessly  In  the  heavy  trail,  brought 
out  upon  a  creek  which  Parker  assumed  to  be  Roar- 
ing Fork.  As  he  was  debating  whether  to  cross 
from  this,  the  "yon"  side,  to  the  other,  he  saw  the 
back  of  a  man  who  was  trudging  away  from  him 
up  a  feeder  of  the  main  stream.  Even  In  the  dusk, 
and  at  the  distance,  the  native  showed  to  be  excep-  | 
tlonally  tall  and  broad  of  shoulder.  His  leisurely 
stride  and  omission  of  backward  glances  augured 
that  he  did  not  suspect  any  surveillance.  A  sack  or 
pouch  of  some  sort  was  slung  over  his  one  shoulder. 

This  pack  It  was  that  held  suggestlveness  for  Par- 
ker— the  possibility  that  it  might  hold  corn  or  rye 
on  Its  way  to  some  blockade  process.  He  decided  to 
follow  afoot.  Joining  the  two  ends  of  Teetotaler's 
reins  in  a  hard  knot,  he  threw  them  over  a  sapling; 
then,  with  what  stealth  he  could  command,  started 
after  the  disappearing  man. 

The  "branch"  had  a  sharp  fall,  as  he  discovered, 
once  he  began  following  it  through  the  shrubbery. 
■It  seemed  to  be  fleeing  in  noisy  trepidation  from 
the  frown  of  the  largest  mountain,  which  Parker  de- 
cided must  be  the  Vernaluska  of  regional  fame  for 
which  the  daughter  of  the  Metcalfs  had  been 
named. 

In  the  looming  shadows  and  tangle  of  under- 
growth he  presently  lost  sight  of  the  pursued;  but 
only  for  a  moment.  On  straining  his  eyes  upward, 
he  was  rewarded  by  a  glimpse  of  the  tall  figure  dis- 
appearing Into  a  rough-board  shack  which  stood  on 
a  ledge  of  rock  several  yards  to  the  right. 


DROPS  OF  FIRE  125 

Excitement  caught  Parker  as  he  crouched  behind 
a  storm-flung  boulder,  needlessly,  perhaps,  in  the 
thickening  gloom.  Had  he  at  last  come  upon  a 
still?  Another  moment,  light  from  within  outlined 
the  door  and  window  of  the  structure. 

With  a  stealth  of  tread  which  he  felt  any  Indian 
might  have  envied,  he  circuitously  approached  the 
smaller  of  these  apertures,  which  showed  to  be  Inno- 
cent of  glass  or  sash.  The  going  was  precarious 
and  the  window  on  the  down-hill  slant.  He  crouched 
low  when  close  enough  to  see  Inside. 

The  scene  was  not  what  he  had  hoped  or  ex- 
pected. None  of  the  equipment  for  the  manufac- 
ture of  "bumxblings"  showed  In  the  hght  of  the  rosin 
torch,  made  dim  and  uncertain  by  frequent  sput- 
tering. Of  such  furnishings  as  were,  there  stood 
out  In  best  detail  a  stone  fireplace  directly  beneath 
the  flare.  In  the  ashes  of  the  hearth  knelt  the  man 
with  the  sack.  His  great  shoulders  were  bent  for- 
ward to  aid  the  groping  of  his  hands  along  the 
sooty  stones  of  the  chimney  back.  His  hat  had 
been  discarded,  revealing  a  leonine  mass  of  tawny 
hair.  A  rifle  lay  upon  the  floor  beside  one  bent 
knee. 

Old  Tom  Metcalf  himself  It  was. 

The  Northerner  recognized  him  with  an  admix- 
ture of  triumph  and  shock.  He  felt  his  way  farther 
forward  among  the  loose  rocks  which  littered  the 
slant  of  the  ledge.  He  was  in  time  to  witness  the 
removal  of  a  stone  from  the  chimney  and  Its  place- 
ment upon  the  hearth.  When  the  groping  hands 
again  emerged  they  held  one  of  the  tin  lard-pails 
so  Innumerable  In  a  region  where  fats  are  the  pre- 
vailing condiment  of  most  things  culinary. 


126     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

The  patriarch  turned  on  the  hearth,  placed  the 
pail  In  the  fullest  light  of  the  flare,  into  it  dipped 
both  huge  hands.  They  reappeared  with  something 
falling  through  their  fingers  that  looked  like  drops 
of  liquid  fire. 

Over  and  over  again  the  bluish  tongues  lapped  the 
soot-blacked  palms,  ran  down  the  fingers,  with  a 
tinkling  sound  dripped  back  Into  the  pail.  Yet  they 
showed  not  to  burn,  for  the  old  man's  expression 
was  entranced  as  he  bent  low  over  them.  His  lips 
began  to  move  and  mumble  In  a  sort  of  doggerel,  | 
several  connected  utterances  of  which  reached  the 
ears  outside. 

"Blue  flames,  you-all  are  mine — ^youVe  got  to  be 
mine.  Leave  them  sneer,  leave  them  tap  their  skulls. 
We'll  singe  their  sneers  one  day.  You've  got  the 
power  I  crave.  You  can  open  the  gates  of  the  world 
to  my  gal.  Won't  you  do  it  for  Verney,  If  not  for 
me?  She's  young  and  she's  got  power  like  you. 
Why  hide  you-all  from  Tom,  when  he's  going  to  git 
you  whether  or  no?  Why  scorch  his  peace  of  mind 
when  he " 

Whimpering  choked  his  words.  He  sank  his  face 
Into  double  handfuls  of  the  irrldescent,  tinkling, 
trickling  fire;  continued  to  mutter  and  sob.  His 
shoulders  shook,  as  If  from  man-sized  emotion.  His 
voice  reduced  into  a  wheedling,  unintelligible,  senile 
whine. 

Parker,  pressing  closer,  In  the  hope  of  distinguish- 
ing more  of  these  garbled  mutterlngs,  unfortunately 
put  his  weight  upon  a  rounded  stone  and  lurched 
forward,  straight  Into  the  window  frame.  In  his 
effort  to  stay  the  fall,  both  hands  shot  out,  so  that, 
when  his  forward  movement  ceased,  both  arm-pits 


I 


DROPS  OF  FIRE  127 

were  as  firmly,  cruelly  wedged  as  though  forced  Into 
a  straight-jacket. 

On  raising  his  head  he  found  his  predicament 
pointed  by  the  round  mouth  of  a  rifle  barrel.  De- 
spite the  undoubted  surprise  of  his  appearance  on 
the  scene,  the  hands  which  held  the  weapon  were 
steady.  In  the  shifty  torch-light  Old  Tom's  face 
showed  to  be  twisting  with  fury. 

^'Hell's  banjer — the  slick!"  he  cried.  ''Stop 
wrenching — you  can't  heft  loose.  What  be  you-uns 
hunting  this  p.m.?  Do  you  call  me  bird,  beast  or 
fish?  You  hear  me  asking  of  you.  Best  be  think- 
ing quick  or  I "     The  tightening  of  rifle-alm 

completed  his  suggestion. 

Parker  ceased  his  struggles  to  be  free  from  the 
vise  Into  which  his  awkwardness  had  flung  him,  ad- 
vised by  the  point  of  the  gun. 

''Let  me  explain  my  position,  Mr.  Metcalf." 

"  'Pears  to  me  that  don't  need  no  explaining." 

"But  It  does,  sir;  rather,  the  Incentive  that  got 
me  Into  this  somewhat  tight  place.  You  folks  around 
here  have  a  mistaken  Idea  of  me.  I  am  seeking 
liquor,  yes;  but  for  my  own  use.  I  am  able  and 
willing  to  pay  well  for " 

"You'll  pay,  by  cripes!" 

The  blond  patriarch's  Interruption  was  an  angry 
roar. 

"I'd  ought  to  make  you  pay  this  minute,  by  right, 

for  spying  on — on "     He  glanced  back  at  the 

hearth,  Innocent  of  lard  pail,  of  mysterious  flames, 
of  the  cobblestone  taken  from  the  chimney-back. 
Marvelously  swift  had  been  his  restoration  at  first 
hint  of  alarm.  His  expression  was  less  fierce  as  he 
returned  to  the  window's  prisoner.     "But  there's 


128     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

smarter  than  what  I  am  on  your  trail.  You'll  get 
yourself  run  outen  these  parts,  I  reckon,  without 
my  man-killing  you." 

"I  reckon  I  won't,  If  you  have  any  justice  In  your 
system.  This  mountainside  Isn't  your  property,  any- 
how, Is  it?"  Parker  protested,  the  while  guardedly 
working  one  shoulder  upward. 

The  effect  of  the  question  upon  the  old  man  was 
unnerving.  The  rifle  again  raised  and  a  steady  eye 
squinted  along  its  barrel. 

*' What's  it  you  say?"  he  bellowed.  *'I  ain't  never 
been  no  man-killer,  but  I'll  start  with  you,  if  you 
pester  me  with  another  question.  'Tain't  a  matter 
of  whose  land  this  is — ^you  got  no  right  prowling 
over  It.  If  you  wriggle  your  right  side  down  In- 
stead of  up  you  can  heft  loose.  The  winder's 
warped  atop — has  been  plumb  squaw-wlfted  ever 
since  the  Bald's  last  conniption  fit." 

Parker  found  these  instructions  practical. 
Loosened  from  the  grip  of  the  slanted  frame,  he 
turned  to  urge  his  contested  explanations  upon  the 
mountaineer. 

But  In  the  same  split-minute  two  disconcerting 
things  occurred.  The  flare  went  out  and  a  bullet 
tore  through  the  soft  crown  of  his  fedora — he  felt 
the  press  of  it  lift  his  hair. 

"That  means  you  git  and  stay  git!'*  amphfied  a 
ravening  voice  from  the  pitch-black  Inside. 

Under  all  circumstances  this  appealed  to  Calvin 
Parker  as  sensible  advice.     He  got. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

HIS    CUT-BACK 

The  man  from  "out  North"  was  unprepared  for 
the  advent  of  the  annual  blackberrv^-blossom  storm. 
Some  time  during  the  night  the  winds  had  marshaled 
their  heaviest  storm-clouds  in  the  sky;  by  daybreak 
were  driving  a  slantwise  deluge  that  made  the  trees 
writhe,  and  beat  down  completely  fern  and  bush. 
Already  the  creek  could  be  heard  lashing  about  in 
attempts  to  escape  punishment.  From  the  makeshift 
shelter  behind,  Teetotaler  sounded  an  occasional 
snorted  protest. 

Smoking  a  pipe  just  inside  the  open  front  door- 
way, the  shut-in  watched  the  spectacle  with  equivocal 
interest  and  dismay.  In  time,  however,  the  fantastic 
shapes  of  the  cloud  battalion,  the  kaleidoscopic  tints 
in  the  shrapnel  of  rain,  the  poor  spirit — or  was  it 
wisdom — of  the  growing  things  that  offered  no  re- 
sistance grew  monotonous.  He  closed  both  doors 
and  lit  the  candles. 

When  the  fire  cheered  up,  he  set  himself,  with 
what  skill  he  could  summon,  to  the  manufacture  of 
an  omelette  which,  in  view  of  the  energy  expended 
in  fluffing  and  flapping  it,  ought  to  have  tempted  his 
appetite.  But  it  was  sad  as  the  day.  It  oozed  futile 
tears.  He  grew  disgusted  with  it  as  he  partook 
of  it. 

At  last  he  plumped  both  elbows  upon  the  table  and 

129 


130     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

permitted  himself  to  brood.  The  fact  that  his 
eyes  were  gazing  straight  at  Sylvia's  latest,  framed 
in  a  purple  leather  stand,  gave  license  for  this  lapse 
from  cheer. 

Cause  enough  for  a  man  to  brood — looking  at 
Sylvia's  picture — the  man  who  was  away!  Why  had 
he  not  appreciated  her  rarity  in  time  to  save  himself 
this  torture-cure?  The  only  possible  excuse  he  could 
think  of  was  that  from  childhood  he  had  grown 
used  to  Sylvia.  When  had  he  not  been  leashed  by 
a  preference  for  her,  from  the  little-boyhood  days 
when  her  fairy-princess  fluff  of  silver  hair  had  al- 
ways been  waving  like  the  banner  of  a  knight  just 
ahead  of  him;  through  the  college  vacations,  when 
he  had  found  her  a  debutante,  with  sentiment  begin- 
ning to  make  mystery  in  her  violet  eyes;  after  his  re- 
turn from  the  dissipations  and  art  struggles  under 
the  tutelage  of  French  masters,  when  her  fragile 
loveliness  and  reserve  of  manner  had  roused  him  to 
a  protectorate  not  felt  in  any  of  his  crasser,  Latin 
Quarter  affairs? 

On  that  culminative  *  Varnishing  day"  at  the  Acad- 
emy, when  he  was  paid  tribute  as  "perhaps  the  most 
promising  of  our  younger  American  artists,"  it  had 
seemed  fitting  that  his  triumph  should  be  a  portrait 
of  Sylvia  as  the  one  whitest  lily-of-the-valley,  gleam- 
ing from  a  vague,  fanciful  background  of  many  of 
the  same — not  one  so  elusive,  so  exotically  sweet  as 
she. 

His  technique  had  been  mentioned  as  "inspired" — 
but  inspired,  as  he  had  acknowledged  both  to  him- 
self and  to  Sylvia,  by  his  lifetime  of  looking  at  her. 
Their  engagement  had  been  the  most  natural  de- 
velopment in  the  world,  approved  by  the  two  fami- 


HIS  CUT-BACK  131 

lies  and  society.  That  it  had  developed  into  a  long 
one  had  been  tacitly  understood  by  every  one  to  be 
a  punishment  for  his  growing  self-indulgence  with 
the  cup. 

Once,  in  the  reaction  after  a  conspicuous  social 
contretemps,  he  had  pointed  that  marriage  might 
"brace  him  up."  For  the  first  time  she  had  men- 
tioned her  jealousy  of  his  habit.  Wine  was  her 
rival,  she  acknowledged  prettily.  Until  he  had  worn 
out  the  other  love,  she  dared  not  trust  herself  to 
him.  She  was  content  to  wait.  Time  enough  to  set- 
tle down,  she  had  declared,  after  both  had  had  their 
fling.  So  the  days  and  months,  even  years,  had  piled 
upon  each  other  until 

Parker's  elbows  straightened  along  the  deal  table; 
his  chin  continued  heavy  in  his  hands;  his  cheek  flat- 
tened against  the  boards  in  the  prostration  of  his 
memories. 

The  shack  was  stuffy  from  the  fire,  thick  with  to- 
bacco smoke,  unpleasantly  odorous  from  spent  can- 
dles and  cookery.  One  after  another  the  lights 
went  out.  The  wet  logs  on  the  hearth  succeeded 
at  last  in  spitting  out  the  fire.  With  darkness  Cal- 
vin Parker  fell  into  an  unhappy  dose. 

Some  one  laid  violent  hands  upon  his  shoulders, 
shook  him  to  an  unsteady  stand.  He  muttered  re- 
sentfully and  stared  about.  He  was  in  his  own 
studio,  where  he  had  been  the  last  he  remembered. 
The  old-gold  walls  with  their  frames  of  brown-and- 
bronze,  the  pet  Persian  rugs,  the  costly  this  and  that 
fancied  in  his  travels — all  were  recognizable. 

Then,  too,  it  was  Spencer  Pope,  his  closest  friend, 
who  had  acted  as  alarm-clock.     He  mumbled  a  rec- 


132     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

ognitlon  of  this  fact  as  he  shambled  to  one  of 
the  windows  that  overlooked  the  park  and  threw  it 
up  for  air.  When  he  faced  again  toward  the  huge, 
beautiful  room,  he  pressed  both  hands  against  his 
temples,  which  were  throbbing. 

"What  a  head!"  he  murmured,  not  complaining- 
ly,  but  as  one  states  the  infliction  of  an  undeserved 
ill.  "Last  night  must  have  been  some  night — some 
night!" 

Disapproval,  dark  upon  Pope's  face,  gave  color 
to  his  tone. 

"Why,  on  the  eve  of  the  most  Important  day  in 
your  career,  couldn't  you  have  let  the  trouble-stuff 
alone?  You're  in  fine  fettle,  aren't  you,  to  show 
your  winter's  work  to  the  world  this  afternoon?  Of 
course  your  personal  appearance  and  habits  won't 
influence  the  experts  and  critics,  but  it  will  the  fash- 
ionables, from  whom  your  future  commissions  must 
come.  You  look  like  a  poster  of  'A  Night  Out.' 
For  Sylvia's  sake,  you  might  have  held  in  until  your 
exhibition  tea  was  over." 

Parker  tried  a  jaunty  air,  only  to  realize  Its 
failure. 

"Had  every  intention  of  doing  so,"  he  defended. 
"Forgot  my  lunch  in  the  varnishing  of  those  two 
last  portraits  until  too  late  to  get  It  served  here. 
Taxied  down  to  the  Van  Vliet  for  a  bite.  Only 
had  two  or  three  to  rest  up  on  and  a  lone  little  bot- 
tle with  my  smelts  and  tartar.  Pd  hav§  been  all 
right  if  a  bunch  of  those  velvet-coats  and  cropped- 
hair  'partners'  hadn't  dropped  in.  They're  always 
so  overpoweringly  cordial  with  a  chap  who  has  cash 
enough  in  pocket  to  pay  the  checks.  I  was  billed 
to  take  Sylvia  to  the  opera  and  had  to  dress,  so  I 


HIS  CUT-BACK  133 

guess  I  must  have  been  pretty  late  getting  back  up- 
town.'* 

"You  were."  Pope  nodded  with  grim  effect.  *^At 
nine  o'clock  last  night  she  telephoned  for  me.** 

*'For  you — why  for  you,  Spence?" 

"A  queen  wants  some  courtier  dangling  around 
the  throne  steps.  Sylvia  asked  me  to  fill  in — to  take 
your  place,  as  It  were.**  ) 

A  smile  was  on  the  deputy  collector's  good-look- 
ing face,  a  rather  strange  smile,  partly  of  self-depre- 
ciation and  partly  of — could  it  be  triumph?  Parker 
noticed  it  and  paused  a  moment  to  ponder,  then 
promptly  gave  it  up.  Let  good  old  Spence  smile,  if 
he  could;  how  did  It  matter  just  what  he  was  smiling 
at? 

"Went  alone  to  the  Winter  Palace  and  afterward 
to  supper  at  Fred's.  Don't  remember  much  after 
that.  Since  the  morning-after  face  of  that  clock 
says  It's  noon,  I  must  have  got  home  somewhere  in 
the  late  earlies.'* 

Pope  continued  to  smile  that  strange  smile  of 
his. 

"And  by  the  early  lates — to  be  exact,  by  three 
o'clock  this  afternoon,"  he  said,  "you  have  to  be  in 
form  to  receive  the  super-ultras  of  the  art  set  and 
their  self-tagged  devotees  I" 

At  this  Parker  managed  mirth-sounds  of  some 
buoyancy. 

"Don't  look  so  sour  about  It,  friend  mentor.  The 
four  portraits  are  varnished,  I  tell  you — finished  to 
the  last  hair  of  the  last  eyebrow." 

"But,  Gal,  if  you  could  see  yourself!  You  look 
like " 

Parker  waved  a  soothing  hand.     "My  boy,  do 


134     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

you  think  Mrs.  Mllllonbucks  Pembroke  Is  going  to 
hold  my  looks  against  me  when  she  sees  herself  In 
oils  of  my  spreading,  admired  by  all  her  crowd? 
Or  Captain  Mayflower  Hannah,  or  old  Mortgage- 
on-the-World  Flint,  or  my  own  lUy-of-the-valley 
lady?" 

''Don't  class  Sylvia  with  your  other  sitters,"  Pope 
objected.  "Sometimes,  Cal,  you  seem  positively 
odious  in  your  cast-Iron  assurance  that  nothing  you 
do  can  affect  her  good  opinion." 

"Of  course  I'm  no  fit  object  for  a  fiancee's  eyes 
just  now,  Spence,  but  by  that  third  early-late  I'll  be 
— well,  an  expurgated  edition.  Just  ten  minutes 
under  the  shower,  a  once-over  shave,  a  jolt  of  rye, 

my  breakfast,  and  a  pipe While  I  set  about 

working  the  miracle,  won't  you  give  down-stairs  a 
ring  for  a  grape-fruit,  sans  sugar;  a  pot  of  black 
coffee;  three  two-minute  eggs  and  a  flock  of  unbut- 
tered  toast?     That's  a  good  fellow." 

Parker  started  for  the  annex  to  the  studio  proper 
that  held  his  living  quarters.  At  the  door  he  paused 
and  interrupted  his  friend's  grudging  manipulation 
of  the  telephone. 

"Strange,"  he  remarked,  "that  I  should  be  wear- 
ing this  smock!  I've  often  got  up  fully  dressed,  but 
never  before  in  a  smock.  Wonder  why  In  Sam 
Hill " 

"That's  all — and  hurry  It,  please." 

He  heard  the  finish  of  Pope's  order  before  turn- 
ing on  the  water.  On  turning  it  off  he  heard  the 
finish  of  what  evidently  had  been  a  second  call  upon 
the  wire. 

"The  sooner  the  better  for  both  him  and  you. 
But  I  want  you  to  see  him  at  his  worst — you  ought 


HIS  CUT-BACK  135 

to  know  why.  Yes,  I'll  wait.  Until  seeing  you, 
then.'* 

He  did  not  understand  until  later.  Even  then 
he  did  not  quite  see  why  Spencer,  his  friend,  had 
taken  the  initiative  and  should  wish  his  fiancee  to  see 
him  *'at  his  worst." 

When  he  presently  emerged  into  the  studio  he 
felt  somewhat  better,  and  the  critical  deputy  ex- 
pressed himself  as  amazed  by  the  transformation. 
Then,  too,  Sylvia  looked  exceptionally  beautiful  as 
she  swept  in,  earlier  than  he  could  have  hoped,  but 
dressed  for  the  exhibition  tea.  Small,  fragile  of 
figure,  yet  aglow  with  health,  dainty  as  dawn  in  her 
blush-rose  crepe,  she  divided  her  greetings,  her  in- 
quiries, her  wavery  smiles  between  the  two  men. 

Humility  overtook  Parker  that  he  should  be  al- 
lowed to  look  at  anything  so  fresh  and  fragrant 
after  the  chaotic  depths  of  last  night.  Sylvia  al- 
ways seemed  the  more  desirable  after  a  debauch 
with  his  "other  love."  He  longed  to  kiss  the  lips 
that  were  so  tolerant  of  his  fault,  but,  with  Pope 
present,  touched  only  her  finger-tips.  That,  he  felt, 
was  much  more  than  he  deserved. 

Sylvia  was  seldom  demonstrative,  having  been 
reared  to  the  Idea  that  it  was  enough  for  her  to 
be\  but  an  exclamation  of  relief  escaped  her  at  his 
appearance. 

"You  don't  look  half  as  bad  as  Spence — ^that  is, 
as  I  expected — not  halfF^ 

Her  reproachful  glance  at  their  "mutual  friend" 
renewed  Parker's  uneasiness  over  the  telephonic 
fragment  he  had  overheard. 

"He's  braced  up  wonderfully  In  the  last  hour,  as 
you  would  appreciate  had  you  arrived  when  I  did," 


136     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

Pope  declared.  *'If  you  and  I  are  up  to  police  duty, 
I  guess  the  tea  can  be  pulled  off.  I've  just  called  up 
the  florist,  the  caterer,  and  the  musicians — it  seems 
that  Cal  neglected  none  of  the  preliminaries.  Every- 
thing and  body  Is  on  the  way." 

^Tm  so  relieved!  You  gave  me  something  of  a 
shock,  Spence,  and  I  do  dislike  to  hurry."  She  set- 
tled in  a  wing-chair  at  one  side  the  fireplace,  her  face 
lighting  exquisitely  beneath  the  large  black  velvet 
hat  she  wore.  She  lifted  her  purplish  eyes  to  Par- 
ker's. 

*'Cal,"  she  said  quietly,  "you  know  I  never  have 
wished  to  Interfere  with  what  should  be  your  own 
affair,  but  Spencer  thinks  you  are  getting  more  or  less 
hopeless  on  the  liquor  question.  You  kept  me  wait- 
ing last  night  without  a  word  of  explanation,  and 
all  the  telephone  booths  in  New  York  at  your  serv- 
ice.   If  It  hadn't  been  for  Spence,  I'd  have '* 

"I'm  sorry,  dear — I'll  find  some  way  to  make  it 
up  to  you,"  Parker  interrupted.  "But  even  Spencer 
Pope  hasn't  any  right  to  call  a  man  hopeless  who 
does  his  work  before  he  plays.  When  you  see  the 
way  I  glorified  the  Pembroke  battle-ax  yesterday, 
you'll  understand  that  I  was  working  at  high  ten- 
sion— that  in  a  way  I  had  earned  a  reaction.  And 
an  effect  of  transparency  which  I  got  Into  the  lily 
leaves  came  from  last-minute  inspiration.  You  can't 
work  like  that  and  plod  like  a  dray-horse  after- 
ward. Don't  scold  me  for  falling  until  you  have 
seen  the  height  from  which  I  fell.  Suppose  we  have 
a  preview  of  the  portraits  before  the  rest  arrive?" 

She  glanced  from  lover  to  friend,  her  unwonted 
effort  at  severity  already  weakened. 

Pope,  seeing  this,  arose  impatiently  and  strode 


HIS  CUT-BACK  137 

to  the  window.  From  a  stand  there  he  turned, 
frowning,  to  Inspect  the  "defence.'* 

Assuming  a  briskness  which  physically,  at  least, 
he  did  not  feel,  Parker  sauntered  over  to  the  cord 
which  controlled  the  purple  silk  sheet  before  "The 
Lady  of  Lilies,"  already  famed  as  his  masterpiece. 
He  drew  upon  It  tenderly,  yet  with  confidence,  for, 
best  of  anything  he  had  done,  he  loved  this  con- 
ception of  the  woman  he  loved.  He  did  not  look 
at  the  canvas  In  Its  wide,  flat  frame  of  green  gold- 
leaf.  His  eyes  glanced  hopefully  at  Pope's  stern 
face,  then  settled  upon  Sylvia's  to  await  the  reward 
of  her  appreciation  of  what  he  hoped  was  a  mas- 
ter-touch. 

As  the  curtain  clumped  on  one  side  the  frame 
he  heard  his  friends'  commingled  stutter  of  amaze, 
saw  the  girl's  jewel-glittering  hand  clutch  the  arm 
of  the  wing-chair,  lift  her  to  her  feet,  give  her  a  for- 
ward Impulse.  He  had  expected  her  to  be  surprised 
and  pleased,  but  this  emotion- — her  gasp  of  astonish- 
ment, the  sudden  flush  that  stained  her  pure  coloring, 
her  trembling,  as  if  she  were  about  to  swoon 

She  stopped  half-way  across  the  floor  space,  a 
look  of  horror  stiffening  her  face.  One  hand 
wavered  upward  and  covered  her  features,  the  other 
pointed  forward.  Half  the  sob  of  a  child,  half  the 
wail  of  a  woman,  her  accusation  lifted. 

"What — what  have  you  done?'* 

"What  have  I  done?" 

"You've  done  it,  all  right!"  Was  it  triumph  that 
sounded  In  Pope's  voice  as  he  hurried  to  the  girl 
and  half-carried  her  back  to  her  chair? 

Her  face  sank  Into  both  hands.  She  began  to 
sob. 


138     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

Fear,  unidentified  but  cruel,  clutched  at  Parker's 
heart.  He  strode  into  the  center  of  the  room  and 
turned  to  face  his  masterpiece.  One  glance  sent 
him  reeling  backward,  as  he  never  had  reeled  when 
in  his  cups. 

Whence  had  come  this  bhght  upon  his  gentle 
fantasy? 

Each  leaf  and  lily  of  the  background,  which  had 
been  but  shadows  of  suggestion,  stood  forth  in  of- 
fensive detail,  wilted  and  partially  decayed.  Each 
feature  of  the  central  flower-face  had  been  mutilated 
until  all  sweetness  of  expression  was  gone — forehead 
and  nose  lengthened,  eyes  bleared  with  a  look  of 
craft,  lips  curled  with  superciliousness,  chin  weak- 
ened. The  silver  hair,  that  had  shimmered  like  pale 
sunlight,  now  suggested  iibrilated  ice.  Frost  had 
browned  and  shrunk  the  sheaf  of  green-leaf  satin 
from  which  her  shoulders  rose.  The  virgin  busts, 
Into  which  such  a  feeling  of  reverence  had  been 
painted,  were  flattened  into  an  unlovely  thinness. 
Through  the  illusion  gathered  modestly  over  the 
heart,  a  jagged,  ugly  spot  could  be  discerned,  in  its 
center  a  gnawing  worm. 

The  picture  remained  a  portrait,  but  one  ravished 
by  brutal  brushes  into  a  powerful  caricature. 

From  the  chair  into  which  he  had  collapsed,  Par- 
ker studied  the  details  of  this  travesty  on  the  most 
exquisite  woman  he  knew.  When  able,  he  glanced 
around  at  Sylvia  and  Pope. 

The  girl  lifted  her  face  and  returned  his  look, 
her  lips  opening,  as  If  to  speak,  but  uttering  no 
sound.  The  man  looked  disgusted,  yet  alert — 
looked  to  be  thinking  hard. 

*'As  you  know,  I  was  out  all  last  night,"  said  Par- 


HIS  CUT-BACK  139 

ker  In  a  lagging  voice.    "Some  one  must  have  broken 


m. 


"You  have  an  enemy — ^perhaps  a  rival  artist?" 
faltered  Sylvia. 

Parker  did  not  answer.  A  new  perception  stopped 
him.  His  eyes  had  followed  the  deputy's  to  where 
the  smock  which  he  had  awakened  wearing  lay 
huddled  on  the  floor  of  his  dressing-room.  Upon  a 
tabourette  In  a  far  corner  his  palette  lay.  He  re- 
membered having  cleaned  it  yesterday  afternoon. 
He  sprang  across  the  room  to  examine  it.  It  was 
covered  with  paint,  in  daubs  and  small  coils.  The 
tubes  nearby  showed  to  have  been  emptied  with  a 
twist  that  was  peculiarly  his  own. 

With  hands  shaking  from  what  might  have  been 
either  memory  or  prescience,  he  exposed  the  re- 
maining three  portraits  of  the  collection  selected  for 
private  exhibit  that  afternoon.  All  had  been  mal- 
treated by  the  brutal  brush.  That  of  the  wealthy 
Mrs.  Pembroke,  who  had  wished  posterity  to  re- 
member her  comparative  slenderness  of  fifteen  years 
agone,  now  showed  the  triple  chins  of  to-day,  had 
lost  all  figure-lines  in  balloonlike  inflations.  Horns 
distinguished  the  brow  of  Captain  Hannah,  and  lust 
drew  back  his  lips,  both  indelicate  tributes  to  his 
wide-known  reversion  from  the  Puritanism  of  the 
ancestors  he  boasted.  Flint,  Wall  Street  magnate, 
had  been  remade  by  a  few  strokes  into  a  specimen 
of  the  chosen,  whose  blood  he  denied  the  more  in- 
dignantly because  it  really  flowed  in  his  veins. 

Diabolically  was  exaggerated  every  weak  point 
of  those  who  had  paid  so  high  a  price  that  the  bene- 
fit of  all  doubts  of  them  might  be  perpetuated  in 
oils! 


140     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

The  artist  reached  his  own  verdict,  stupefying, 
but  positive.    He  spoke  the  culminative  catastrophe. 

*'I  must — have  done  it — myself.'' 

With  the  quiet  of  desperation  he  faced  the  two 
he  considered  his  closest  and  dearest  friends.  He 
forced  himself  to  draw  up  words  from  the  well  of 
bitterness  within  him. 

*T  don't  remember  anything  about  it,  so  I  must 
have  been  very  drunk.  To  you,  Sylvia,  I  don't 
know  what  to  say,  except  that  it  was  my  other  self 
that  has  sinned  against  you  in  ruining  the  portrait 
you  sat  for  so  patiently.  I  am  sorry  and  ashamed 
to  the  last  fiber  of  my  worthless  self.  I  will  pay 
the  price  as  best  I  can — will  do  whatever  you  say." 

She  answered  his  despair  with  despair  of  her 
own. 

*'But  nothing  you  can  ever  pay  will  save  my  love- 
ly picture — save  you  and  me  to-day!'^ 

*T  didn't  know,"  remarked  Pope,  *'that  cartooning 
was  In  your  line." 

"Only  when  drunk,"  acknowledged  the  recreant 
gloomily.  *Tt  was  my  first  offering  to  art — got  me 
expelled  from  Yale.  The  Jester  printed  some 
sketches  of  the  faculty  which  I  had  made  when  on  a 
spree.  Caution  has  managed  my  subconsciousness 
since,  until  to-day " 

*'Yes,  to-day,"  Pope  Interrupted,  taking  out  his 
watch. 

*'What  can  we  do  about  to-day?"  mourned  Sylvia. 

Parker  heard  the  tones  of  subdued  discussion  with 
which  the  deputy  talked  to  his  fiancee  from  the  con- 
sultation Into  which  he  had  drawn  her;  heard  frag- 
ments of  their  plan  to  declare  him  suddenly  111,  to 
*'call  off'*  the  tea  as  best  they  might;  heard  Sylvia- 


HIS  CUT-BACK  141 

pleading  against  something  which  Spence  had  urged. 
He  did  not  wish  to  know  until  they  were  ready  to 
tell  him.  He  did  not  care  much  what  they  decided. 
He  had  promised  to  abide  by  their  decision,  what- 
ever it  was,  no  matter  which  of  them  had  originated 
it,  and  he  would. 

''And  this  was  It!" 

The  exile  in  the  cabin  on  Fallaway  Rim  spoke 
aloud  for  company.  Lifting  the  shoulders  that  re- 
mained broad-built  despite  misuse  of  himself,  he 
peered  through  the  gloom.  He  fancied,  rather  than 
saw  the  photographic  eyes  of  Sylvia  Brainard  bent 
with  pitying  encouragement  upon  him. 

*'God  help  me!"  he  groaned. 

And,  for  the  rest  of  that  day,  he  thirsted  no 
more. 


CHAPTER  XV 

VARMINT  fool! 

The  blackberry  storm  seems  designed  by  the 
weather-gods  not  to  destroy  the  mountainscape.  Just 
In  time  it  always  relents.  Early  on  the  fourth  day 
Sol  took  a  squint  over  the  prospect,  gave  his  clouds 
a  final  wringing,  then  fluttered  them  out  to  dry. 
The  wind  shook  up  the  growing  things.  The  ground 
drained  the  drippings.  All  nature  cheered  that  the 
huge  wash-day  was  over.  In  an  hour  the  sun  was 
beaming  steadily  from  a  sky  whose  azure  seemed 
only  deepened  by  the  wrung-out  clouds  flapping  be- 
low. 

From  the  door  of  the  shack  Parker  looked  down 
into  the  valley,  pleased  as  a  house-wife  might  have 
been  at  finding  everything  cleaned  up.  Straight 
across,  the  formerly  smudged  mountains  looked 
scoured  and  varnished,  as  also  the  blues  and  grays 
of  the  distances,  the  greens  and  occasional  floral 
flares  of  the  foreground. 

Another  thing  was  clear  to  him  as  the  day:  he 
had  been  a  week  without  a  drink!  Yet  where  was 
the  virtue  of  riding  "the  wagon"  If  strapped  Into 
it?  To  enjoy  his  new-found  strength  he  must  prove 
It.  Anticipation  brightened  his  face  as  he  stood  in 
the  doorway;  a  gleam  lit  his  eyes,  as  If  reflected 
from  the  anticipatory  world  without.  He  would 
change   his   mind    about   letting   that   Inhospitable 

142 


VARMINT  FOOL!  143 

mountain  girl  interfere.  There  must  be  no  more 
beating  about  the  bush;  he  would  appeal  directly, 
as  man  to  man,  to  Old  Tom  Metcalf,  according  to 
his  original  intention.  Truly,  faint  heart  never  won 
anything  for  anybody — either  friends  or  drinks! 

A  pair  of  hounds  announced  his  approach,  even 
before  he  emerged  into  the  considerable  clearing  that 
surrounded  the  double  file  of  oaks  and  the  preten- 
tious— for  the  region — Metcalf  house.  He  had  left 
Teetotaler  at  the  ford,  that  he  might  seem  the  more 
defenseless  in  this  morning  call. 

He  was  pleased  that  the  hounds  returned  his 
greeting  in  kind.  Always  had  he  been  said  to  have 
''a  way"  with  dogs.  Now,  having  rushed  at  him 
savagely,  with  bristles  upraised,  they  subsided  Into 
a  tail-waving,  sniff-approving  escort. 

From  a  chair  on  the  porch  a  man  descended  the 
steps  and  stood  staring  at  him  from  under  hand- 
shaded  eyes.  Even  at  the  distance  Parker  recog- 
nized the  giant  figure  and  leonine  head  of  redoubt- 
able Tom. 

Remembrance  of  the  old  man's  parting  advices 
on  their  two  previous  encounters  lent  interest  to  this 
defiance  of  thern.  ^'See  to  it  that  you  hunt  only 
fur,  fin,  and  feathers,"  he  had  said  on  the  road. 
*'Now  you  git  and  stay  git!"  had  been  the  command 
closing  the  incident  at  the  cabin.  The  echoed 
threat  of  them  in  Parker's  mind  gave  his  greeting 
suavity. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Metcalf.  I  know  it's  eti- 
quette for  a  newcomer  to  wait  until  the  old  settlers 
call  on  him,  but  I've  been  feeling  a  bit  lonely,  so 
here  I  am." 


144     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

**Here  you ''     For  a  moment  the  patriarch 

continued  to  stare,  his  chin  thrown  up  from  a  chest 
haired  over  with  red  w^here  the  flannel  shirt  was 
unbuttoned.  Then  he  finished  sincerely:  "Here  you 
be,  sure  enough;  and  here  I  be,  plumb  gol-dinged!'* 

*'In  fact,"  added  Parker,  "I'd  have  been  over  sev- 
eral days  ago,  except  for  the  weather." 

*'Git  you  out,  he-brute !" 

Tom's  command  was  startling  until  understood  as 
addressed  to  the  more  importunate  of  the  dogs.  His 
roar  at  once  softened  into  a  conversational  tone. 

"Come  along  up  the  stoop,  stranger,  and  set  you 
a  chair." 

Parker  accepted  the  Invitation  with  his  wonted 
lazy  movements,  but  his  thoughts  made  up  in  action. 
So  immediate  a  concession  to  "the  Parker  charm" 
might  be  more  suspicious  than  auspicious.  "Come 
along  up,"  had  said  this  lawbreaker  who  believed 
him  a  revenue  spy;  yet  the  way  he  fell  In  behind 
would  seem  to  amplify:  "I  want  you  ahead  of  me, 
so  I  can  watch  you." 

There  was,  however,  a  declaration  of  square- 
dealing  in  the  way  the  mountaineer  strode  across  the 
porch  to  the  open  door,  removed  the  revolver  from 
his  hip,  hung  It  upon  a  nail  In  the  frame — a  nail 
made  significant  by  the  company  of  other  nails. 

"I'm  not  after  fur  or  feathers  this  morning — 
rd  have  to  fling  rocks  if  I  were."  Such  was  Par- 
ker's contribution  to  this  sign  of  truce. 

"I  seen  that,"  was  the  reply. 

The  "out-Norther"  took  the  sway-back  chair  In- 
dicated, facing  the  door  of  what  evidently  was 
the  living-room.  The  host  straddled  a  straight- 
backed  one  against  the  wall  of  logs,  thereby  helping 


VARMINT  FOOL!  145 

himself  to  a  comprehensive  view  of  the  approaches 
to  his  habitation.  His  feral  eyes  settled  upon  the 
lax-Iounglng  younger  man. 

*'QuIte  a  winding  and  raining  we-all  have  been 
suffering/' 

**Quite  is  right.'*  Parker  returned  this  overture 
with  a  plunge  into  the  object  of  his  call.  "I'd  be 
willing  never  to  meet  another  blackberry  to  escape 
another  such  storm.  There  I  was,  shut  up  for  three 
days  and  nights  in  that  windowless  shack  I've  rented, 
without  so  much  as  a  drop  of  liquor  to  light  my 
thoughts.  Honestly,  Mr.  Metcalf,  I'd  have  given 
half  my  year's  Income  for  one  small  bottle  of  the 
worst  whisky  ever  bumbled." 

The  blockader's  expression  was  a  triumph.  If 
judged  by  histrionic  standards,  Its  amusement  deep- 
ening into  polite  reproof. 

*'I  disgust  bad  liquor  myself." 

"Good  or  bad  doesn't  matter  so  much  when  your 
tongue  Is  drier  than  a  suction-pump  with  the  feed- 
pipe out  of  the  well."  Parker  paused  to  enjoy  his 
simile.  "To  tell  the  end  of  my  sad  story  first,  I'm 
about  desperate  for  some  whisky." 

"So  we-all  have  hearn — so  we've  hearn,"  chuckled 
Metcalf. 

"You  have  heard?    From  whom?" 

"My  nigger,  Cotton  Eye,  Is  tolerable  talkative. 
He's  told  us-uns  how  the  Plotts  and  Dry  Dryden 
allowed  you  could  happen  on  some  bumblings  In  the 
mountains.  Wa'n't  it  Cotton  Eye,  now,  who  sent 
you  hoping  to  Asa  SImms?  And  Sal  Shortoff,  she 
gets  so  boiled  up  working  for  the  cause  that  she 
spills." 

"Mrs.  Shortoff  chose  to  regard  me  as  a  pernicious 


146     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

Influence."  Secretly  somewhat  disconcerted  by  this 
array  of  evidence  against  him,  Parker  pursued  his 
course  of  easy  frankness.  ^'Possibly  it  was  to  divert 
my  search  that  she  sold  me  Teetotaler." 

Tom  Metcalf  agreed  with  a  grin.  *'I  wouldn^t 
put  it  past  her." 

*'The  good  dame,  I  also  suspect,  feared  I  might 
share  my  find  with  her  parched  worser  half.  She 
seems  prohibition-bent." 

*'Sal  sure  Is.  She  gives  In  to  Bide  about  as  quick 
as  'lasses  runs."  His  weathered  face  straightened, 
his  eyes  grew  serious  as  they  sw^ept  the  clearing. 
"No'  Carolina,  in  this  day,  stranger,  ain't  the  State 
for  a  thirsty  man.  Time  was  when  I  had  my  dram 
regular,  but  Pve  learned  to  do  without." 

"You  consummate  old  liar!"  That  was  what 
Parker  thought,  wondering  just  how  many  stone- 
throws  away  was  the  Metcalf  distillery.  Aloud  he 
tried  a  new  approach. 

"From  all  I  hear,  there  are  many  In  the  Caro- 
linas  who  don't  obey  the  law  to  the  letter.  Along 
the  roads  you  are  likely  to  happen  upon  twigs  of 
laurel  which  point  the  way  to  native  bar-rooms." 

"So?" 

The  mountaineer  met  his  visitor's  gaze  with  a 
look  that  held  no  personal  interest.  It  was  politely 
vacuous.  In  the  next  breath  he  changed  the  sub- 
ject. 

"I'm  right  sorry  you  hit  on  to-day  for  calling  on 
us-uns,  stranger,  being  as  I'm  the  only  one  seeable. 
Miss  Emmy,  my  sister-in-law,  who's  run  the  house 
since  my  own  good  woman  passed  alon^,  drove  down 
to  Dismal  to  buy  some  store  stuff.  My  gal,  Ve/ney, 
is  suffering  this  morning  from  the  all-overs." 


VARMINT  FOOL!  147 

"The  all-overs?" 

"I  reckon  you-all  would  call  what  she's  got  a  case 
of  nerves.  Verney  don't  have  them  soon,  but  when 
she  does  she  ain't  fitten  to  talk  to  none,  especially 
a  furrlner.  Sandyred's  out  with  the  nigger,  plant- 
ing. Sandy's  my  man-child.  Another  day  I'd  admire 
to  meet  him  to  you.  It  was  powerful  common  of 
you-all  to  make  us  a  call.    Likely  you'll  come  again?" 

The  suggested  dismissal  of  the  old  man's  words 
and  manner  Parker  chose  to  disregard. 

"To  be  frank,  the  object  of  my  visit  Is  a  double 
one,"  he  said.  "The  social  half  of  It  I'll  Improve, 
thanks  to  your  kind  invitation,  when  I  may  meet  the 
rest  of  your  household.    As  for  the  other  half " 

He  lifted  his  attention  from  patting  one  of  the 
dogs  so  quickly  as  to  surprise  a  frown  on  the  face 
recently  masked  In  dissimulation. 

"Mr.  Metcalf,"  he  demanded  In  a  voice  that 
snapped,  "will  you  or  will  you  not  sell  me  some 
whisky?" 

With  a  bang  the  uptllted  forelegs  of  the  patri- 
arch's chair  met  the  floor. 

"By  cripes,  you  have  got  the  nerve  of Be  you 

a  varmint  fool  to  come  here  after I'll  show  you 

what  I  meant  when  I " 

Each  unfinished,  these  ejaculations  spat  through 
his  lips. 

A  sound  and  sight  within  the  house  caught  Par- 
ker's attention. 

From  just  Inside  the  door,  around  that  side  of 
the  frame  where  sat  his  host,  he  saw  a  long,  strong- 
handed  arm  extend.  A  checked  lavender  gingham 
skirt  fluttered  a  trifle.  The  next  moment  a  face  ap- 
peared— one  surrounded  by  fire-glinting  hair. 


148     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

His  eyes  met  the  forbidding,  fawn-green  ones  of 
Vernaluska  Metcalf. 

Any  impulse  to  get  to  his  feet,  to  greet  her,  was 
subdued  in  time  by  the  vehement  shake  of  her  head 
and  her  significant  finger-to-lips.  In  the  seconds  he 
could  afford  for  consideration  he  saw  her  possess 
herself  of  the  revolver  which  her  parent  had  hung 
upon  the  nail  as  a  sign  of  hospitality.  There  was 
no  suggestion  of  "all-overs"  in  her  rapid  movements. 

A  spell  of  amazement  held  Parker.  What  did 
she  want  with  the  weapon?  Would  he  find  it  trained 
upon  him  from  the  shadows? 

Did  she  mean,  with  her  own  "ornery"  hand,  to 
make  good  the  warning  that  he  would  not  find  any- 
thing "pleasurable"  on  Roaring  Fork? 


CHAPTER  XVI 

PAID   BY   PROMISE 

With  return  of  his  outer  attention  to  Old  Tom, 
Parker  saw  that  any  immediate  outburst  from  that 
source  was  averted.  The  sudden  fury  was  smoothing 
away,  the  color  receding  from  his  face,  the  angry 
lips  straightening  into  lines  of  guile. 

"Likely  you-all  didn't  intend  to  rile  me,"  said 
the  mountaineer,  "but  you'd  best  not  ask  for  bum- 
blings  again.  Naturally  I  ain't  got  nary  none,  ac- 
count of  the  law." 

A  glance  within  showed  Parker  an  anxious,  ad- 
monitory face.    Yet  he  persisted  toward  his  goal. 

"Far  from  wishing  to  rile  you,  sir,  Pd  like  to  con- 
fide in  you  as  I  would  in  a  friend.  There  seems  to 
be  a  report  circulating  through  the  region  that  Pm 
a  revenue  officer  sent  by  the  government  to  make 
trouble  for  blockaders." 

Old  Tom's  nod  was  nothing  more  than  admission 
that  he  had  heard  the  report. 

"This  you  will  realize,"  he  from  the  North  con- 
tinued, "to  be  even  more  cruel  than  absurd  when 
you  know  that  I  am  a  man  of  independent  income 
whose  chief  fault  lies  in  having  partaken  too  freely 
of  the  mead  that  cheers.  I  have  come  to  the  Blue 
Ridge  to  get  a  grip  on  my  thirst.  My  presence  here 
this  morning,  unarmed  and  unattended,  when  Pve 

149 


ISO     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

been  warned  of  your  suspicions  of  me,  ought  to 
argue  for  the  truth  of  what  I  claim." 

''It  might — and  then  again  it  mightn't."  The 
patriarch  showed  that  he  was  not  to  be  Impressed 
by  talk  alone. 

"Here  is  my  membership  in  the  Satyrs — a  fa- 
mous New  York  club  to  which  no  revenuer  could 
belong.  Will  you  oblige  me  by  looking  It 
over?" 

After  the  mountaineer  had  scrutinized  the  cre- 
dential protected  by  isinglass  on  the  Inside  of  the 
card-case  extended  and  had  returned  It  with  only 
a  grunt  by  way  of  comment,  Parker  proceeded  more 
boldly. 

"You  are  generally  believed  throughout  the  coun- 
tryside, Friend  Metcalf,  to  distil  a  grade  of  com 
whisky  which  loses  nothing  of  strength  or  flavor 
from  the  fact  that  it  pays  no  tax  to  the  Federal  gov- 
ernment. Wait  just  a  minute  before  you  flare  up 
again — hear  me  through!" 

The  last  exclamation  had  been  drawn  out  by  the 
glower  which  the  mountaineer  had  focused  upon 
him. 

"Get  a  lavish  with  your  explanatloning,  then!" 

Parker  proceeded  to  do  so,  but  not  before  risking 
a  glance  into  the  living-room.  The  sight  within 
stirred  his  heart  and  voice. 

The  girl  still  stood  just  beyond  her  father's  range 
of  vision  with  the  revolver  broken,  the  cartridges 
extracted  and  In  her  hand.  This  she  showed  him 
as,  with  significant  gesture,  she  dropped  the  shells 
into  the  pocket  of  her  dress,  snapped  to  the  gun, 
and  returned  It,  harmless,  to  Its  nail  upon  the  door 
frame.    Again  he  noticed  that  In  none  of  her  move- 


PAID  BY  PROMISE  151 

ments  was  there  sign  of  that  state  of  nerves  under 
which  she  was  supposed  to  be  suffering. 

With  a  thrill  he  realized  that  Vernaluska  was  not 
allied  against  him,  rather  was  acting  for  him,  was 
safeguarding  him  against  possible  untoward  Impulses 
of  her  Irascible  parent.  What  a  girl  she  was,  he 
saluted  her  in  thought — ^what  a  resourceful,  pally 
sort  of  girl ! 

Metcalf  was  widely  said  to  be  a  man  of  discrimi- 
nation and  fair  play,  he  was  meanwhile  suavely 
urging.  That  was  why  he  had  risked  the  morning 
visit  to  his  home  In  the  teeth  of  their  past  unpleas- 
antness. Was  he  likely  to  have  come  were  he  really 
a  revenuer?  Would  he  not  have  tried  slinking  meth- 
ods out  of  regard  for  his  personal  safety? 

^'There's  no  safe  concluding  about  revenue  slicks, 
whether  or  no,"  the  old  man  drawled,  now  quite 
dispassionately.  "Some  of  the  cuckolds  are  right 
pert  of  tongue,  while  others  are  just  fool-cussed." 

"Well,  sir,  I'm  neither  pert  nor  fool-cussed, 
as  you'll  realize  when  you  know  me  better,"  Parker 
insisted.  "The  government  doesn't  know  me  ex- 
cept for  a  bit  of  Income  tax,  and  I'll  never  be  a  col- 
lector. I  come  to  you  as  a  private  customer,  ready 
to  pay  your  price.  The  delivery  can  take  any  form 
you  select  for  your  safety  until  after  I've  established 
your  confidence.     What  do  you  say,  sir?" 

The  mountaineer  arose  suddenly  from  the  seat 
which  he  had  been  straddling.  Parker  straightened 
In  his,  nerved  himself  for  a  possible  attack.  He 
glanced  toward  the  nail  in  the  door-frame.  Upon  It 
the  revolver  hung,  looking  no  more  innocuous  than 
before  It  had  been  robbed.  The  girl  had  disap- 
peared. 


152     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

'        .       . 

Enjoyment  of  the  situation  surged  up  In  Parker. 

He  hoped  that  the  wily  old  law-breaker  would  make 
a  lunge  for  the  gim,  level  it  upon  him,  pull  the  ham- 
mer down  upon  an  empty  cylinder. 

But  the  attack  for  which  Metcalf  had  arisen 
proved  not  to  be  one  of  physical  force.  After 
rounding  his  chair  to  the  porch  edge,  he  flicked 
a  caterpillar  off  a  cluster  of  geranium-blooms,  then 
turned  the  chair  around,  sat  down  upon  it  and  very 
deliberately  crossed  his  legs. 

"You-all  have  got  a  plumb  convincing  way  of 
putting  things,"  he  remarked.  "If  what  you  do  was 
as  convincing  as  what  you  say " 

A  loudening,  singing  tenor  voice  Interrupted. 
From  around  the  house  the  words  of  the  song  be- 
came distinguishable: 

"Feed  the  furnace  and  stir  the  mash; 
Play  the  ace ;  you  get  the  hash." 


An  expectant  lOok  soothed  the  severity  of  Met- 
calf's  face.     "It's  Sandyred.     Makes  them  up  him- 1 
self,  them  songs." 

Into  view  strode  the  son  of  the  "cantankerous" 
clan — a  replica  of  what  Old  Tom  must  have  been  as 
a  youth. 

"Sandy,   this   here's   Parker   from    out  North," 
said  the  old  man  by  way  of  Introduction.     "Glad 
you  happened  along,  for  he's  in  a  powerful  hurryi 
to  be  moving  toward  home,  and  you  can  show  hlmj 
the  short  cut  to  the  ford." 

"I  can  that,"  agreed  the  youth,  with  uncompli- 
mentary alacrity. 

"What  do  you  think,  son?'*  asked  Tom,  with  a 


PAID  BY  PROMISE  153 

chuckle.  "He  came  up  here  hoping  to  buy  popskull 
— ^heard  that  we  Metcalfs  made  It  ag'In'  the  law." 

"Hell's  fire,  dad!"  The  younger  actor  took  an 
aggressive  forward  step.  "i\nd  you're  a-standing 
for  a  charge  like  that?  Let  the  cuss  so  much  as  hint 
such " 

"Easy,  son.  He  ain't  charging  nothing;  just 
hankering  to  feed  a  thirst,  so  he  says."  The  parent's 
voice  hardened.  "But  I'm  just  telling  you,  Mr.  Par-^ 
ker,  we-all  know  enough  about  them  polite  customs 
you  w^as  mentioning  not  to  look  forward  to  another 
call  from  you  until  after  we've  returned  this  one  of 
yourn." 

After  expressing  the  hope  that  his  social  over- 
ture might  soon  be  met  in  kind,  Parker  started 
down  the  road  with  Sandyred.  He  did  not  feel  alto- 
gether cheated  of  the  result  of  his  visit.  No  matter 
how  rude  the  mountain  girl  had  been  to  him,  there 
would  be  an  argument  in  her  favor  every  time  he 
remembered  the  appearance  of  that  brow^n  hand  and 
the  removal  of  the  bullets. 

They  stopped  short  in  the  road.  A  woman's 
cry  of  distress  from  somewhere  in  the  woods  to 
their  right  had  cut  the  placid  air. 

"You'll  have  to  project  your  own  way,  stranger. 
I've  got  to  go !" 

With  the  next  breath  the  youth  sprang  into  the 
underbrush. 

The  noise  of  his  departure  crackled  back  to  Par- 
ker, who  hesitated,  tempted  to  follow.  But  sec- 
ond thought  started  him  again  toward  the  ford. 
He  had  "projected"  enough  for  one  day.  Whatever 
the  cause  of  alarm,  it  could  be  no  affair  of  his.  He 
was  contemplating  the  next  move  of  the  liquor  quest, 


154     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

some  dozen  rods  down  the  road,  when  the  thicket 
parted  and  Vernaluska  Metcalf  stumbled  down  the 
bank.  Her  face  was  flushed,  eyes  dilated,  hair 
gloriously  streaming.  Her  left  hand  was  pressed 
against  her  heart,  her  right  was  held  behind. 

"Miss  Metcalf!"  cried  Parker.  "I  hope  nothing 
has  happened.  We  heard  a  scream,  and  your  brother 
departed  like  a  shot." 

"It  was  mine,  that  scream — a  signal.  I've  got 
to  make  a  hustle  back,"  she  panted,  "and  explain 
that  I  had  an  extra  bad  attack  of  the  all-overs." 

"But  why  the  ruse?" 

"I  wanted  to  give  you-all  something  unbeknownst 
to  the  folks.  See  what  I  managed  to  lug  here  on 
the  run,  dodging  Sandyred!" 

At  sight  of  that  which  she  produced  from  behind 
her  back  he  took  several  hurried  steps  toward  her. 

"A  jug!"  he  exclaimed.    "For  me?" 

She  nodded.  "A  gallon  jug  and  full  of  corn  juice. 
I'd  go  slow  on  it  if  I  was  a  paleface  like  you-uns. 
It's  a  sight  more  powerful  than  what  you've  been 
used  to  out  North." 

The  surprise  of  it,  the  joy  of  it,  the  almost  di- 
vine relief  of  it,  made  Parker  well-nigh  Inarticulate. 

"Why,  you  blessed  girl!"  he  finally  managed. 
"To  think  that  you —  How  can  I  ever  thank  you? 
Let  me  relieve  you  of " 

She  stepped  back,  frowning,  the  jug  again  be- 
hind her. 

"You  can't  relieve  me  until  you  pay — leastwise 
you  can't  unless  you're  the  scum  that'd  try  taking 
it  from  me  by  force.  I'd  give  you  a  right  smart 
tussle  for  it,  at  that." 

Parker's  advance  stopped,  his  surge  of  warmth 


PAID  BY  PROMISE  155 

toward  her  checked  by  her  evident  mercenary  ten- 
dency.    His  hand  sought  his  ever-ready  wallet. 

'Til  pay  anything  the  stuff's  worth  to  you,"  he 
said. 

''Oh,  it  ain't  money  that  can  buy  this,  so  put  back 
your  container.     It's  a  promise  I  want  you  to  pay." 

"A  promise,  Miss  Metcalf  ?'* 

*'Yes,  out-Norther,  the  sort  of  word-o;f-honor 
promise  that  gents  keep  or  don't  make.  It  is  that 
you  take  yourself  out  of  this  region  without  delay." 

"Take  myself  out?  Would  you  mind  telling  me 
why?" 

Vernaluska's  eyes  flashed.  "You  must  have  sight 
worse  than  Teetotaler  not  to  see  that  you're  in  dan- 
ger every  minute  you  stay." 

"From  your  father?" 

She  shook  her  head.  "My  father  fights  fair,  but 
there  are  them  that  don't.  Rex  Currie  has  reasons 
of  his  own  for  hating  you,  and  he's  an  enemy  to 
worry  any  man.  I  know  Rex.  He  won't  give  you 
a  chance  to  fight  back.  Promise  you'll  take  yourself 
off,  and  the  jug's  yours.'* 

"Guess  I'll  have  to  do  without  my  bumblings  to- 
day," said  he  wearily.  "I  can't  seem  to  get  worried 
over  Rex  Currie's  dislike,  and  I  may  make  my  own 
chance  to  fight  back  when  his  attack  comes." 

"Then" —  she  hesitated,  studying  the  stubborn- 
ness of  him — "I'll  swap  that  promise  for  another. 
I'll  give  over  the  jug  if  you'll  agree  never  to  come 
to  our  place  again." 

"Never  come  again?"  He  paused  to  look  Into 
the  insistent  eyes  of  her. 

More  than  anything  else  in  the  world  he  wanted 
that  jug.     He  had  not  realized  the  dynamic  power 


156     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

of  the  desire  for  what  it  held  that  had  grown 
In  Its  absence  until  It  was  so  nearly  within  his  grasp. 

There  came  momentary  diversion.  Up  the  road 
sidled  Teetotaler,  a  broken  rein  explaining  his  es- 
cape from  the  bush  to  which  he  had  been  tied.  By 
the  time  Parker  had  retrieved  his  straying  mount 
his  decision  was  made. 

*'ril  give  you  my  word  of  honor  not  to  come  to 
see  you,"  he  said,  "subject  to  your  release  of  the 
jug.  If  you  win  promise  to  come  to  see  me  at  the 
Fallaway  cabin." 

The  look  she  returned  to  his  was  searching,  al- 
most mandatory  In  Its  effort  to  learn  his  trustworthi- 
ness. Then,  all  unexpectedly,  an  Impish  smile  dim- 
pled her  face,  her  lilting  laugh  sounded. 

"Don't  you  worry  none;  I'll  be  seeing  you — more 
than  you  hke,  maybe." 

"You  mean  that  you  promise?" 

"Why,  man  alive,  I've  sworn  that  to  others  than 
you!" 

Before  he  could  question  the  cause  of  her  sud- 
den levity,  she  had  set  the  jug  In  the  road  before 
him  and  disappeared,  as  swiftly  as  her  brother  had 
lately  done,  up  the  bank  and  into  the  thicket. 

Exasperated  by  this  last  of  her  gazelle-like  flee- 
ings,  he  started  to  follow  her,  but  was  halted  by  a 
sudden  doubt.  In  the  roadway  Teetotaler  was  sniff- 
ing at  the  cork  of  the  jug.     Parker  joined  him. 

Had  the  girl  been  honest  In  her  exchange  of 
promises  or  was  she  playing  a  joke  whose  brutality 
she  could  not  know?  Was  the  test  of  his  new-found 
continence  at  last  in  his  possession? 

His  heart  beating  as  It  rarely  had  beat  for  woman, 
he  removed  the  cork. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

jug's  bottom 

Never,  felt  Calvin  Parker,  had  he  painted  with 
such  power;  certainly  never  with  more  speed.  All 
afternoon  he  had  been  hard  at  it,  working  in  an 
ecstasy  of  eagerness  and  strength.  Now,  In  the 
good-night  beams  of  the  sun,  he  placed  his  easel 
where  the  hght  might  reach  it  best  and  backed  off 
to  study  the  new  picture  with  emotional,  almost  wor- 
shipful, gaze. 

For  the  sake  of  perspective,  he  had  pushed  the 
deal  table  to  one  side  with  Its  litter  of  color  tubes, 
brushes  and  bottles  of  oil.  Also  upon  Its  cover  of 
checked  oilcloth  stood  the  brown,  gallon  jug  of  his 
morning's  compromise. 

His  gratitude  on  finding  It  full  and  the  mountain 
girl  as  good  as  her  word  had  rehabilitated  his  pledge 
to  himself  of  temperance.  Only  through  his  nostrils 
had  he  drunk  of  It  along  the  way,  a  scant  two  fin- 
gers of  It  had  he  poured  to  his  first  toast  of  the 
afternoon. 

"For  medicinal  purposes  only!" 

The  mild,  crushed-flower  aroma  of  the  liquid,  its 
clear-as-crystal  color.  Its  thinness,  as  of  the  pure 
spring  water  It  resembled,  made  Vernaluska's  warn- 
ing seem  a  boast.  But  with  the  sear  of  unripened 
liquor  through  his  mouth  and  throat  he  knew  that 
the  Metcalf  distillation  was  not  weak. 

157 


158     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

**And  Old  Tom  disgusts  bad  liquor,"  he  made  com- 
ment aloud  to  Boomer  and  his  mate  who,  according 
to  custom,  had  dropped  in  to  lunch.  "Up  to  date, 
this  popskull  is  the  only  thing  I've  met  in  the  Blue 
Ridge  that's  short  on  time — time  to  get  mellow. 
Yet  maybe  it's  only  the  first  drink  that  burns."  He 
turned  to  the  jug.  "Wonder  how  many  of  those 
temperance  two-fingers  are  in  you?" 

Dipping  the  handle  of  a  paint  brush  into  its  small 
neck,  he  tested  its  wet  capacity,  indicating  the  height 
thereof  with  a  circle  upon  the  brown  outside. 

His  after-luncheon,  clock-timed  cultivation  of  the 
enemy  whom  he  had  sworn  to  make  his  friend  some- 
how brought  him  loneliness,  rather  than  companion- 
ship. 

Why  had  he  traded  in  that  promise  to  give  up 
what  he  had  set  himself  to  achieve — the  location  of 
the  Metcalf  still?  With  a  little  dickering,  he  might 
have  saved  himself  that  diversion  and  also  the 
whisky.  He  had  sold  out  too  cheap.  A  single  gal- 
lon was  no  price  at  all  for  his  word  of  honor  to 
stay  on  his  side  of  Roaring  Fork  until  the  girl  of 
the  hills  gave  her  permission  that  he  cross. 

He  wished  he  could  see  her  at  once.  If  she  had 
not  been  inclined  to  believe  in  him,  to  like  him,  de- 
spite her  manner,  why  had  she  acted  as  she  had 
done? 

There  had  been  amusement  behind  her  return 
promise  that  she  would  seek  him  out;  was  this  at  his 
expense  ?    Would  she  ever  seek  him  ? 

The  eyes  of  Sylvia's  photograph  peered  mildly 
down  from  the  mantel  through  the  smoke,  as  if  ask- 
ing why  he  should  feel  alone,  with  her  in  his  memory. 
A  surge  of  loyalty  caused  him  to  pour  a  draft,  gen- 


JUG^S  BOTTOM  159 

erous  as  his  feeling  of  apology,  and  throw  it  off  at 
a  gulp. 

"So  small,  so  vaguely  sweet,  so  frail — ^yet  the 
great  reward  of  victory,"  he  toasted  her. 

But  the  response  of  a  photograph  was  necessarily 
limited.  Parker's  sense  of  loneliness  increased  when 
the  Boomers,  having  feasted  to  repletion  on  the 
guests'  share  of  his  lunch,  began  long  absences  of 
carrying  tidbits  to  the  kiddies  in  the  armored  pine. 

For  the  first  time  he  tried  to  catch  them.  He 
wanted  to  pet  them,  to  show  them  his  affection. 
Each  time  he  lunged  after  them,  however,  they 
barked  squeakily,  as  with  terror,  and  eluded  his  open 
hands.  Finally  they  scampered  over  the  sill,  not  to 
reappear. 

"Why  does  Vernaluska — you — everybody  run 
away  from  me?" 

From  the  checkered  oilcloth,  the  mouth  of  the  jug 
grinned  in  derisive  reproach. 

"That's  so;  there's  you  left,  friend  jug.  Beg 
your  pardon."  He  bov/ed  humbly  and  allowed  him- 
self to  sip  from  its  good  cheer. 

Before  many  more  such  sips  inspiration  came, 
took  charge  of  a  lagging  afternoon.  An  attractive 
idea  came  to  him,  grew  in  appeal,  finally  controlled 
both  hands  and  mind. 

Why  need  he  ever  be  alone,  Calvin  Parker,  who 
was  said  by  the  critics  to  possess  the  ability  to  create 
personalities  from  tubes,  brushes,  oils?  This  ever- 
fleeing  mountain  girl — he  would  catch  her  on  canvas 
and  make  her  stay.  From  first  glimpse  he  had  in- 
tended to  paint  her,  to  attempt  combining  that  mar- 
velous softness  and  brilliancy  of  her  hair. 

What  was  it  which  the  look  of  her,  the  spirit  of 


i6o     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

her,   the   name   of   her   had   suggested    all   along? 

In  her  was  combined  delicacy  with  force,  hope 
built  on  fear,  life  that  was  young,  alluring,  colorful 
— hfe  that  sprang  from  what?  Why  was  she  like 
the  rhododendron  flower  that  lifted  its  face  straight 
to  the  sun  from  a  bank  of  the  winter's  dead  leaves? 

Ah,  he  had  It  at  last! 

She  was  Spring.  That  w^as  why  she  was  so  elu- 
sive, yet  so  strong.  That  was  why  her  smiles  sug- 
gested tears  shed.  Her  very  life  meant  past  death. 
She  was  Spring.  To  him  she  was  not  Vernaluska, 
not  "Verney,"  but  V erne. 

His  rapid  sketch  was  reminiscent  of  her  unex- 
pected appearance  that  morning  from  the  roadside 
thicket — reminiscent,  yet  far  from  literal.  No  laven- 
der gingham  clothed  her  form,  no  country  shoes  her 
feet.  As  the  painter  stood  now  at  eventide,  survey- 
ing his  work,  a  frenzy  of  gratitude  possessed  him  for 
the  license  allowed  to  art. 

From  a  background  of  brush,  w^ith  only  here  and 
there  a  sprouting  thing  to  suggest  the  season,  t'le 
girl  fleeted  toward  him  on  bare  feet,  her  dazzling 
body  revealed  through  a  fluttering  drapery  of  young 
green,  her  hands  outstretched,  eyes  side-glancing  with 
a  look  of  anxiety  lest  she  be  outsped,  lips  curved  with 
a  tremulous,  promising  smile.  Like  a  veil  of  spun 
copper  from  about  and  above  her  floated  backward 
her  hair.  Boldly  beneath,  Parker  had  painted  his 
title : 

SPRING  IS  HERE 

"And  here  to  stay,  you  darling,  you  beauty;  here 
to  stay!"  he  exulted,  addressing  her  aloud,  adoring 
her  closer  and  closer  in  the  waning  glow  from  the 


JUG'S  BOTTOM  161 

west  door.  *'It's  time  to  light  the  night-lIghts,  but 
you  cannot  run  away.  It's  time  for  supper — ^to- 
night you'll  have  to  watch  me  while  I  eat.  You  can- 
not mock  me  any  more,  you  cannot  deny  me.  For 
you're  Spring-time,  and  you  can't  help  being  as  sweet 
to  me  as  to  any  other  man." 

A  moment  he  spared  from  her  In  which  to  be 
pleased  with  himself.  He  lurched  about  the  shack, 
found  and  lit  the  candles.  Steadying  himself  against 
the  mantel-shelf,  he  surprised  more  than  mild  in- 
terest in  Sylvia's  flower  eyes.  The  approval  which 
she  would  have  felt  could  she  have  watched  him  this 
afternoon  beamed  on  him  from  the  steel  print.  After 
she  had  toasted  him,  he  toasted  her.  Then,  having 
made  his  peace  with  her,  he  drank  once  more  to 
Verne.  Pulling  his  camp-stool  close  and  seating 
himself,  that  he  might  look  up  under  the  lashes  of 
her  timorous  eyes,  he  sipped  a  wee  drop  while  he 
talked  with  her. 

He  had  her  at  last,  tricky  jade,  he  told  her.  He 
would  not  be  lonely  any  more.  Let  the  father  and 
mother  shadow-tails  desert  him  for  their  squirrel- 
ettes  In  the  pine;  he  need  not  care.  She  could  not 
leave  him  night  or  day.  The  white  fire  from  her 
father's  jug  had  thrown  a  flashlight  on  her,  had  re- 
vealed her  to  him  as  she  was.  Her  occasional  In- 
tolerance was  her  protest  against  the  prick  of  thorns 
In  the  brush  from  which  she  came,  the  hurt  of  stones 
along  her  life-path.  Now  that  he  understood  her, 
now  that  he  had  caught  and  could  hold  the  spirit  of 
her,  she  would  learn  to  like  to  stay. 

*'You  are  here,  you  are  mine — youth,  power,  sen- 
tience," he  whispered  to  her  and  to  himself,  tears 
stumbling  down  his  exalted  face,  even  as  the  liquor 


i62     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

drizzled  to  the  floor  from  the  glass  In  his  shaking 
hand.  "Do  you  mind,  Verne?  Sweet,  I  hope  you 
do  not  mind." 

Next  moment,  remembrance  mixed  his  metaphori- 
cal intensity.  He  chuckled  in  reassurance,  tipped  the 
glass  to  his  lips,  let  the  overflow  of  his  hurry  mix 
with  the  salt-drops  on  his  chin. 

Had  she  not  been  predisposed  toward  him  from 
first  sight?  If  not,  why  the  exertion  to  drag  him 
from  the  mud,  to  wipe  his  face,  dig  out  his  ears? 
Why  that  memorable  smile  at  the  post-ofiice,  the  visit 
to  his  cabin,  the  silent  protectorate  of  him  against 
her  father's  possible  outbreak,  her  culmlnative  pres- 
entation of  the  jug?  She  was  a  woman;  he  must 
make  allowances  for  that;  a  woman  with  probably 
more  than  the  average  woman's  contradictory 
ways.  All  mere  man  could  do  was  to  fasten  his  eyes 
on  fact.  And  each  fact,  despite  her  words,  her 
every  act,  had  favored  him. 

Supper  seemed  a  prosaic  thing  by  contrast  with 
the  successive  toasts  he  drank  to  Verne  and  himself, 
so  he  put  it  off.  Again  curiosity  keen  as  anxiety 
cause  him  to  dip  the  paint-brush  handle  into  the 
mouth  of  the  "bust-head"  jug.  At  first  he  felt  some- 
what disconcerted  to  note  that  it  was  almost  half- 
empty.  Next  moment  he  decided  that  he  might  as 
well  drink  an  even  half  of  the  "bumbllngs"  before 
he  ate — let  them  sting  him  Into  a  first-class  appetite 
if  they  could!  Another  circle  of  measurement  he 
painted  around  the  brown  jug. 

Gyrating  once  toward  Sylvia,  he  anticipated  a  pos- 
sible reproach.  It  was  a  long,  long  way  to  the  bot- 
tom of  the  jug,  he  told  her,  when  a  man  could  paint 
under  its  influence  as  he  had  done  that  p.m.     And 


JUG'S  BOTTOM  163 

he  wanted  her  clearly  to  understand  that  it  was  from 
no  Interest  in  the  concrete  of  his  subject  that  he  had 
been  inspired  to  such  results.  Vernaluska  Metcalf 
was  a  beautiful  girl,  truly,  and  a  girl  with  lure, 
doubtless,  for  certain  men  of  the  wild;  but  it  was 
the  spirit  behind  her  personality  that  he  had  put 
upon  canvas,  a  conception  which  her  looks  merely 
aided  to  express. 

^'Y'understand,  dear?  But  of  course  you  do!'^ 
he  apostrophized  as  glibly  as  his  thickened  lips  would 
permit.  "To  v/omen  I  am  all  artist;  to  you  only, 
the  one  woman,  am  I  man.  We  Parkers  love  well 
and  once." 

To  entertain  his  receptive  audience  became  his 
concern.  For  them  he  recited  "The  Rubric  of 
Rum,"  a  composition  of  his  own,  relic  of  college 
days  when  people  laughed  at  the  tendency  which 
later  they  deplored.  In  this  metered  effort  were 
consigned  to  verse  the  various  excuses  offered  by 
various  mortals  for  their  libations.  They  drank  to 
warm  up  in  cold  v/eather,  they  drank  to  cool  down  In 
hot.  Good  fortune  deserved  a  celebration,  bad  luck 
a  beaker  to  console.  At  birth  was  uncorked  spark- 
ling wine  for  the  christening,  at  death  sustaining 
brandy  for  the  wake.  Friendship  tipped  the  loving- 
cup,  enmity  the  poison-draft  of  hate.  It  mattered 
not,  through  the  vicissitudes  of  life — Thirst  supplied 
his  own  glib  excuse. 

Parker,  declaiming  such  fragments  of  his  literary 
achievement  as  came  to  mind,  gesticulated  and  bowed 
with  animation,  if  not  dramatic  effect,  first  to  one, 
then  the  other  of  his  audience.  His  eyes  were  fer- 
vid; his  grin  sardonic.  By  way  of  realism,  he  tossed 
off  a  drink  with  each  metered  citation. 


i64     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

What  if  he  did  get  a  bit  tipsy  reciting  his  "Rubric 
of  Rum,"  he  once  lapsed  into  prose  to  argue?  Thirst 
had  inspired  it — let  Thirst  then  pay  the  piper  I 

The  brilliance  with  which  his  intemperance  always 
had  been  associated  called  for  more  lights.  In  his 
larder  he  found  an  unopened  candle-box.  Dripping 
grease  for  sockets  in  half  a  dozen  available  places, 
he  proceeded  worthily  to  illuminate  the  occasion. 
Although  the  effect  in  the  rough-boarded  shack  was 
not  exactly  garish,  he  was  pleased.  Whole-hearted- 
ly, he  drank  to  the  general  good-cheer. 

"Electric-lighted  N'York's  got  nothing  on  Fall- 
away — while  the  candles  last.  Here's  to  Spring, 
who's  brought  us  life!" 

Before  each  of  his  fair,  lip-tight  guests  he  held 
a  potion;  then,  in  response  to  their  gentle  sugges- 
tions, obliged  by  the  consumption  thereof  himself. 
Tacking  against  the  headwind  of  intoxication,  he 
introduced  and  explained  one  to  the  other. 

Who  had  sent  him  to  the  Blue  Ridge  for  his  own 
best  good,  in  quest  of  the  "grip"  which  he  had  got? 
His  valley  lily  of  the  conservatory,  'his  Sylvia. 

Who  had  angered  him  with  her  criticism?  Who 
but  the  rhododendron  girl.  Who  had  helped  him 
with  her  ridicule,  had  appealed  with  her  very  aloof- 
ness, had  diverted  his  search  for  the  regional  illicit 
brew,  then  had  set  at  his  feet  the  fiery  draft  for 
devils  or  gods?  None  but  Vernaluska,  fitly  named 
for  a  mountain  in  her  mystery  and  uncompromising 
power,  yet  wafted  over  by  a  spirit  as  delicious,  as 
balmy,  as  virile  as  the  winds  of  early  May. 

"And  you'll  stay,  Verne;  you'll  stay,  won't  you, 
Verne?"  he  cried  in  a  recurrence  of  maudlin  en- 
treaty. 


JUG'S  BOTTOM  165 

Emotion  wobbled  his  knees.  He  lurched  side- 
wise  into  a  chair  beside  the  table,  stretched  botE 
arms  across  its  checkered  oilcloth  toward  the  radiant 
being  stepping  so  daintily,  fearsomely,  shyly  toward 
him. 

"You've  brought  me  life — you'll  not  take  it 
away?"  he  sobbed.  "You'll  stay  with  me  and  like 
me  and  let  me  like  you?  Couldn't  you  promise  me 
never,  never  to  go?" 

His  face  fell  into  his  clutching  hands.  The  shoul- 
ders built  for  such  strength  shuddered  weakly,  then 
held  still.  Only  a  waggle  of  the  dark,  attractive 
head  resented  a  sudden  crash  that  sounded  from  the 
puncheon  floor. 

The  gallon  container  had  been  knocked  over  on  its 
side,  had  rolled  to  the  edge  of  the  table  and  over. 
But  not  a  drop  of  liquid  wasted  from  its  derisive 
little  m.outh. 

As  It  chanced,  Calvin  Parker  had  reached  the 
bottom  of  his  jug. 

Screaming  pain  awakened  his  other  mind.  Or- 
dered by  that  greater  voice,  so  often  raised  In  the 
cause  of  drunkards,  his  body  staggered  up;  the  phys- 
ical of  his  eyes  stared  about  him,  crazed  from  suf- 
fering. The  candles  on  the  table  had  burned  to 
stubs;  one  sleeve  of  his  coat  was  smoldering  over 
seared  flesh. 

Ordered  again,  he  lunged  across  the  room  to  the 
water-pail,  uttered  a  gasping  cry  as  he  sizzled  his 
arm  Into  It,  turned  and  searched  the  gloom  In  a  half- 
conscious  fear  lest  Verne  also  be  endangered  by 
flame. 

He  located  her,  peering  at  him  from  the  drawing- 


i66     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

stand,  shy,  sweet,  reassuring.  He  started  toward 
her,  meaning  to  clutch  one  of  the  outstretched  hands 
and  lay  it  upon  his  wound  in  the  conviction  that 
such  strong,  long  fingers  must  have  curative  power. 
But  at  a  hostile  sound  he  stopped  and  glanced  be- 
hind. 

The  back  door  had  blown  open;  wind  was  level- 
ing the  flame  of  such  candles  as  still  stood.  Some- 
thing had  rushed  in  beside  the  wind — something 
black,  darting,  winged.  It  batted  the  walls,  struck 
the  puncheon  of  the  floor,  rose  in  swift,  astonishing 
spirals. 

It  was  not  Parker's  subconsciousness  that  appre- 
hended the  nature  of  the  disturbance  which  was  shak- 
ing him  with  fear  more  hideous  than  the  pain  of  his 
arm.  The  small,  awakening  fraction  of  his  con- 
scious mind,  rather,  bade  him  leap  after  it  in  urgent 
terror — terror  not  so  much  for  himself  as  for  Verne, 
who  had  come  to  stay. 

The  thing  which  had  entered  was  an  enemy  air- 
plane, the  purpose  of  the  demon  at  the  controls  to 
seize  and  bear  away  his  spirit  of  Spring.  Deviously, 
to  confuse  him,  it  was  darting  hither  and  yon,  but  its 
objective  could  not  be  in  doubt.  So;  he  would  meet 
artifice  with  superior  artifice ! 

Don  Quixote  had  fought  windmills — a  small  issue 
compared  with  the  tilt  in  prospect.  One  aviator 
would  wish  he  never  had  quit  his  airdrome.  With 
a  bestial  snarl  of  challenge,  Parker  crouched  low 
near  the  canvas.  Just  let  this  winged  intruder  make 
the  attempt — let  him  swoop  nearer  if  he  dared! 
Crushed  fuselage,  twisted  tail  and  broken  wings — 
into  what  a  wreck  would  the  machine  be  twisted! 
The  shock-absorber  or  stabilizer  was  not  built  that 


JUG'S  BOTTOM  167 

could  withstand  that  superman,  Cal  Parker,  under 
threat  of  the  unspeakable  deprivation. 

The  thing  approached,  evidently  banking  for  an 
easy  turn.  The  moment  for  counter-attack  was 
about  to  come — had  come. 

With  all  the  power  of  his  vitriol-fed  limbs,  Par- 
ker shot  into  the  air.  He  reached,  he  clutched  the 
outspread  wings  of  the  enemy  plane.  He  brought 
it  down.  With  giant-strong  fingers,  he  crushed  and 
tore  it  as  together  they  fell.  Only  when  sure  that 
it  would  never  move  again,  did  he  collapse,  in  a 
deathlike  sprawl,  upon  the  floor. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

SPRING   IS    HERE 

The  day  was  new-born,  fragrant  of  breath,  dewy- 
eyed.  From  the  Metcalf  clearing  rode  a  colorful 
maid  upon  a  white,  red-legged  steed — Vernaluska 
and  Solomon,  starting  betimes  to  a  full  day's  work. 

They  did  not,  however,  turn  into  a  certain  well- 
worn  path  on  the  homestead  side  of  Roaring  Fork. 
Tucking  up  her  green  "habit"  around  her  lifted 
feet,  the  rider  put  the  little  beast  to  the  stream. 
With  only  a  waggle  of  the  longest  ears  in  cap- 
tivity did  Solomon  protest  her  guidance.  Then  he 
dipped  his  slim  legs  into  the  flood,  felt  with  care 
for  loose  or  slippery  stones,  gallantly  convoyed 
across  the  mistress  who  could  decide  no  wrong. 
Into  the  woodsy  trail  on  the  other  side  he  padded 
with  a  noiseless,  swinging  gait. 

From  the  first  Vernaluska  had  fulfilled  with  sys- 
tem and  good-cheer  the  duties  of  the  office  which  she 
had  won  against  such  odds.  Any  inherent  repug- 
nance for  the  act  of  spying  had  been  promptly  al- 
layed by  a  thought  of  still  more  repugnant  possibili- 
ties, had  not  the  mercurial  Sandyred,  Rex  Currie 
and  her  father  been  overcome  in  discussion.  So  now 
she  leaned  forward  to  tickle  Solomon's  forehead  in 
the  spot  of  keenest  mule  delight,  and  adjured  him  to 
enjoy,  as  she  tried  to  do,  their  service  to  the  family. 

I68 


SPRING  IS  HERE  169 

"Pretend  like  we're  taking  a  pleasure  voyage. 
The  woods  are  an  ocean  of  perfume.  You-uns,  Sol, 
are  my  boat." 

She  breathed  deeply  the  salt,  crisp  tonic  of  green 
in  the  shrubbery  that  already  surged  over  the  ridge- 
side — the  dogwood  blossoms  that  gleamed  like  phos- 
phorescence on  southern  seas;  the  vari-tinted  azaleas 
that  flamed  atop,  wave  after  wave,  as  of  burning  oil 
on  the  surface  of  gently  swelling  billows. 

Making  a  considerable  detour  into  a  sunlit 
meadow,  where  thrived  a  patch  of  tall,  black-hearted 
yellow  flowers,  she  consulted  the  popular  necrom- 
ancer known  as  "Susan"  on  love.  After  reaching 
down  for  a  flower,  she  began  to  tear  ofl  its  yellow 
rays. 

"Does — don't.  Me — another.  Does — don't.  Me 
another.  Does — don't."  Thus  she  chanted  as  she 
pulled. 

The  destruction  of  the  daisy,  excusable  for  sake 
of  its  purpose,  continued  until  but  one  ray  clung 
to  the  black  heart  of  wizardry.  This  she  withdrew 
tenderly  and  pressed  to  her  lips. 

"He  loves  me !"  she  cried  in  so  triumphant  a  voice 
that  a  near-by  pine  warbler  performed  a  spiral,  and 
the  beast  under  obligation  of  his  name  to  be  so  wise 
cut  quite  a  caper. 

When  Solomon  was  hidden  at  the  mouth  of  Scape- 
cat  Run,  Vernaluska  approached  the  cabin  on  the 
Rim  with  the  usual  caution  of  her  matutinal  w^atch. 
She  found  a  lapsing  silence  that  had  not  been  the  rule 
of  other  mornings.  Fear  clutched  her — a  fear  which 
the  presence  of  the  pinto  stamping  in  his  shed  could 
not  reassure. 

Had  the  out-Norther  for  once  slipped  away  be- 


170     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

fore  her  arrival?  Had  he  suspected  that  other  rea- 
son behind  her  presentation  of  the  jug?  Under  con- 
donation of  his  official  duty,  had  he  broken  his  word 
to  her  by  starting  at  dawn  to  run  down  the  family 
still?  She  stepped  into  the  open,  crossed  the  small 
clearing,  entered  the  cabin's  back  door. 

After  the  brilliant  sunlight  without,  the  window- 
less  interior  seemed  dark.  The  girl  peered  along  the 
side  of  the  room  which  came  first  into  focus.  The 
bunk  was  included  in  her  glance — an  empty  bunk. 
Her  face  showed  self-reproach  over  her  dllatori- 
ness.  What  sort  of  a  one-man  guard  was  she  who 
risked  so  much  on  an  assumption,  even  though  since 
yesterday  it  had  strengthened  into  hope? 

Was  he,  after  all,  what  they  said  he  was?  If  so, 
of  course  he  wouldn't  wait  around  for  her  to  outslick 
him! 

Taking  a  forward  step,  she  noted  the  long-cold 
ashes  of  the  hearth  and  the  table  in  the  center  of  the 
room,  untidy  with  glasses  and  greased  over  by 
small  hillocks  of  burned  candles.  Gingerly  she 
stepped  among  the  chairs  which  surrounded  the 
table,  one  still  on  all  fours,  two  on  their  sides.  Per- 
plexity caught  her  that  a  man  so  immaculate  should 
live  in  such  disorder. 

Then  something  really  disturbing  caught  her  eye. 
From  the  far  side  of  the  room  a  girl  creature  in 
none  too  many  clothes  seemed  speeding  directly  to- 
ward her.  "Spring  is  here,"  she  read  In  golden  let- 
ters at  the  elfin  creature's  feet.  In  a  flash  she 
grasped  the  vitality  of  the  conception,  stepped  closer 
to  admire.  The  flesh-tones  gleaming  through  the 
veil  of  green;  the  long,  yet  rounded  limb-lines;  the 
young  busts;  the  outstretched  hands — all  held  her 


SPRING  IS  HERE  171 

in  a  breathless  sensation  of  something  precious  to 
her  and  familiar. 

The  face — It  was  hers !  Idealized,  strange  from 
Its  look  of  commingled  fear  and  promise,  whitened 
to  a  dazzling  purity — yet  hers  beyond  a  doubt.  And 
the  hair — none  could  mistake  her  hair ! 

Vernaluska's  admiration  died  In  a  flare  of  resent- 
ment. How  dared  he  paint  her  In  this  shameless 
garb,  the  out-North  spy?  What  had  she  said,  what 
done  to  give  his  Imagination  license?  Well  was  it 
that  she  had  come  to  his  empty  shack  to  discover  this 
desecration  of  her  modesty! 

On  the  floor  just  below  the  canvas  lay  a  palette, 
still  thick  with  paint.  Upon  the  table  were  brushes. 
Stooping,  she  gathered  them  up.  No  artist  In  oils 
was  she,  yet  she  must  fashion  a  dress  to  cover  the 
lovely  body.  She  would  leave  a  sign  of  her  visit 
calculated  to  show  this  man  from  lewd  civilization 
the  decency  to  be  learned  In  the  hills ! 

Her  brush  was  dipped,  her  arm  forward  stretched, 
describing  the  line  with  which  to  begin  her  recon- 
struction, when  a  sound  startled  her.  Turning,  she 
saw  what  she  had  not  seen  before  in  the  far  corner 
of  the  room. 

A  gasp  escaped  her  lips.  The  palette  and  brush 
she  dropped  to  stifle  other  outcry  with  her  hands. 
She  sprang  back,  tlien  turned  to  face  the  Thing  upon 
the  floor. 

He  looked  to  have  been  suddenly  stricken,  his 
arms  outflung,  his  fists  clenched  as  though  for  mor- 
tal combat.  The  sound  which  had  startled  her  must 
have  been  the  boomers  scampering  over  him. 

Terror  palsied  the  girl's  limbs,  but  not  her  mind 
— ^terror  sprung  from  a  grim  suspicion  which  con- 


172     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

cerned  not  him,  not  herself,  but  those  closest  to  her. 
Had  they  regretted  entrusting  the  spying  to  her,  and 
decided  to  settle  the  stranger's  fate  in  a  quicker  way? 
Had  one  of  them  shot  him  down — her  father,  Sandy- 
red,  Rex?  Or  had  the  Dismal  Gap  wets  thus  fla- 
grantly defied  her  father's  orders? 

There  must  have  been  a  struggle,  to  judge  by 
the  disorder  of  the  room.  And  those  broken  pieces 
of  crockery  scattered  on  the  floor?  They  were,  yes, 
the  remains  of  her  earthen  jug.  The  shot  must  have 
been  in  the  back,  since  no  wound  or  stain  showed  on 
the  trespasser's  wan,  upturned  face  or  garments. 
Stepping  closer,  she  leaned  over  him.  What  was 
that  grasped  in  one  of  his  hands? 

The  first  doubt  of  her  fears  came  with  the  dis- 
covery that  his  fingers  w^ould  not  loosen,  rather 
gripped  the  harder  on  what  they  held — the  body 
of  a  flying  squirrel,  one  of  the  sad  little  rascals  which 
waft  their  way  into  Blue  Ridge  cabins  at  night  to 
gnaw  everything  except  food  that  attracts  them. 
This  specimen  had  been  viciously  crushed. 

Contemplation  of  the  broken  jug  electrified  her 
with  hope.  Gripping  those  extra-broad  shoulders, 
she  upraised  the  young  man  far  enough  to  see  that 
no  wound  showed  in  his  back.  Before  returning 
him  to  the  floor,  she  shook  him  with  all  her  might. 
He  shuddered,  then  slumped  from  her  grasp  and 
subsided  into  observable  breathing. 

She  now  saw  that  his  face  was  an  unlov^ely  sight; 
that  his  lips  were  thick,  his  closed  eyelids  red  and 
pouched  beneath;  that  a  considerable  bump  marred 
his  forehead.  Kneeling  on  the  puncheon,  she  fav- 
vored  Parker  dead-to-the-world  with  a  kinder  look 
than  ever  she  had  bent  upon  him  quick. 


SPRING  IS  HERE  173 

"Drunk!"  she  sighed,  her  hands  clasped  prayer- 
fully. ''God  dear,  I  thank  Thee.  Thou  and  I  have 
done  got  him  dead  drunk!" 

A  goodly  piece  of  the  jug  she  seized  and  lifted  to 
her  lips. 

"I  have  cussed  you  a-plenty,  popskull,"  was  the 
thought  she  beamed  upon  it,  "but  to-day  I  could  al- 
most take  a  sip  of  you.  You've  given  me  a  right 
smart  sign  of  what  I  want  to  know.  Is  it  likely,  now, 
that  any  revenuer  of  the  slick  sort  Cal  Parker  would 
be  If  he  was  one — Is  it  likely,  I  ask  you,  that  he'd 
put  himself  at  our-all's  mercy  like  this?" 

She  tried  to  make  his  position  easier  and,  in  the 
gentle  turning  of  him,  discovered  a  hole  burned 
through  the  sleeves  of  both  coat  and  shirt  to  an 
angry-looking  wound  in  his  flesh.  Gratitude  over  his 
condition  moved  her  to  save  him  what  pain  she  could 
after  sleep  had  quenched  the  liquid  fire  which  was 
scorching  his  consciousness. 

With  his  knife  she  ripped  the  armhole  seams  of 
his  clothing  and  removed  the  sleeves.  In  the  larder 
she  searched  for  the  box  of  baking  soda  which  should 
have  been  there,  but  was  not.  Denied  this  likeliest 
first-aid,  she  looked  about  for  a  substitute. 

Although  Vernaluska  knew  nothing  of  Leech's 
ambrine  treatment,  that  most  modern  method  of 
dressing  burns,  she  had  glassed  jelly.  Inspiration 
came  to  her  from  the  profusion  of  candle  stubs.  Ex- 
amination proved  them  made  of  paraflEn.  If  a  wax 
coating  could  keep  germs  from  spoiling  her  fruit  pre- 
serves, she  argued.  It  should  serve  as  effectively  to 
shut  out  the  air  from  a  flesh-burn. 

Several  of  the  stubs  she  shredded  Into  a  skillet, 
eliminating  such  bits  of  wick  as  remained  in  them. 


174     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

After  firing  some  kindling  on  the  hearth,  she  melted 
them.  While  still  hot,  but  not  hot  enough  to  cause 
further  irritation,  she  poured  the  liquid  over  the 
wound,  an  air-tight  covering. 

To  complete  this  rude  surgery,  she  ripped  a  white 
towel  into  strips  and  bound  the  member  with  some 
skill.  The  placement  of  one  of  the  bunk  pillows 
beneath  her  patient's  head,  the  smoothing  back- 
ward of  his  disheveled,  silky  hair,  the  shaking  of  a 
reproachful  forefinger  before  his  face,  completed 
her  ministrations. 

His  unresponsiveness  was  broken  by  a  deeper, 
shuddering  breath,  by  an  inarticulate  murmur  as  of 
gratitude.  Then  suddenly,  before  she  could  rise 
from  her  solicitous  position,  his  lids  flashed  up,  his 
dark  eyes  peered,  as  if  from  far  away,  into  hers. 

"Verne,"  he  murmured  in  a  revealing  voice,  "you 
are  here?" 


CHAPTER  XIX 

SEE   YOURSELF 

At  sound  of  Parker's  familiar  tones,  Boomer  and 
Mrs.  Boomer  barked  joyously. 

"Delighted  to  have  you  again  In  our  midst — dee- 
lighted!"  they  seemed  to  say. 

Vernaluska  sprang  to  her  feet  and  backed  away. 
She  watched  the  young  man  curiously  as  he  sat  up 
on  the  floor,  cast  a  confused  glance  around,  started 
to  lift  his  right  hand,  then  substituted  the  left  with 
which  to  clasp  his  forehead. 

"Win  you  give  me  a  drink,  please?" 

A  broken  bit  of  the  erstwhile  container  she  pushed 
toward  him  with  one  toe  of  her  clumsy,  country 
shoes. 

"YouVe  done  given  yourself  all  the  drinks  that 
were." 

"I  mean  water — a  drink  of  cold  water." 

At  the  suffering  note  of  this  specification,  she  took 
a  tin  cup  to  the  bucket  outside  and  brought  It  to 
him  brimming.  Again  he  started  to  use  his  right 
hand,  again  substituted  the  left. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said,  both  before  and  after 
draining  the  cup.  Then:  "Would  you  mind  get- 
ting me  another?" 

This  he  accepted  with  the  same  confusion  of  im- 
pulse— thanked  her,  drained  It,  thanked  her  again. 
Later  he  lifted  and  examined  his  right  hand  and 

175 


176     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

arm.  The  blanched,  twisted  look  of  his  face  showed 
that  he  was  beginning  to  realize  the  pain  of  it.  His 
next  words  showed,  too,  that  he  appreciated  the  na- 
ture of  the  dressing. 

*'Who  was  it  told  me,"  he  puzzled,  '^that  you 
have  the  healingest  hands  In  the  world?" 

The  girl  made  no  reply,  but  that  he  did  not  seem 
to  miss. 

He  was  holding  his  forehead  tightly  with  his  left, 
his  eyes  staring  from  under  at  the  mangled  remains 
of  a  little,  red,  furry  body  nearby. 

*'Only  a  wretched  squirrel,  torn  limb  from  limb," 
he  said.     "And  I  thought " 

An  urgent  look  came  into  his  face.  His  left  hand, 
lifted  to  the  table  top,  helped  him  to  his  feet.  He 
crossed  the  room  to  his  easel. 

*'Thank  God  for  His  miracles!"  he  exclaimed  on 
seeing  the  painting  unharmed.  Into  a  chair  just  be- 
hind he  sat  down  suddenly.  "Tell  me,  what  do  you 
think  of  It?"  he  asked  the  girl. 

"What  do /think?" 

The  fierce  repetition  shot  like  a  bullet  Into  his 
dulled  sensibilities.  He  turned  to  look  at  his  pic- 
ture's original.  She  had  retreated  to  the  fireplace. 
When  his  glance  met  hers,  she  covered  her  face 
with  both  hands. 

"Do  you  reckon  any  nice  girl  would  admire  to 
be  Insulted  thataway?"  she  demanded  in  turn.  "Did 
you  count  on  my  not  recognizing  It?  You  get  a  like- 
ness too  good  for  that — better  than  the  last  revenue 
sneak — than  any  of  them." 

The  young  man  arose  and  approached  her,  his 
effort  to  get  above  the  miseries  of  his  mind  and  body 
apparent.     The   fact  that   she   deliberately  turned 


SEE  YOURSELF  177 

her  back  upon  him  brought  increased  force  to  his 
halting  plea. 

*'Verne,  you  still  think  that  of  me?  If  I  were  not 
what  I  say  I  am,  you  might  accuse  me  of  insulting 
you,  but  think  a  minute.  Lord  knows  I  have  no 
reason  to  be  vain  about  myself,  but  does  my  work 
look  like  that  of  a  pretender?  I  am  a  good  many 
things  I  ought  not  to  be,  but  I  am  not  a  revenuer. 
The  best  of  me — the  artist  of  me — painted  you,  not 
the  man.  I  am  happy — almost  prayerful  in  my 
happiness  that  you  see  yourself  in  it.  If  my  mother 
were  living,  Verne,  I  should  want  her  to  know  you 
— to  see  the  fine  creature  whom  I — I " 

He  paused,  confused  over  the  delicate  task  of 
overcoming  the  outraged  modesty  of  this  girl  so 
close,  yet  not  close  enough,  to  Nature. 

She  seemed  not  to  have  heard  him.  Her  eyes 
were  on  the  mantel  shelf.  He  noted  with  her  the 
hardened  puddles  of  wax  from  last  night's  illu- 
mination. At  one  end  stood  the  photograph  of 
Sylvia  in  its  purple  leather  frame. 

Her  attention  settled  upon  the  alluring,  pictured 
face.  She  gazed  upon  the  flower  eyes,  the  gentle* 
lips,  the  cloud  of  ash-blond  hair  lighted  by  a  master 
photographer  into  a  haloesque  effect,  the  depths  of 
the  decolletage  which  revealed  more  than  It  con- 
cealed the  attraction  of  girlish  curves. 

To  Parker  the  moment  seemed  long  before  Ver- 
1  naluska  turned  and,  for  the  first  time  since  his  stu- 
por, really  looked  at  her  inebriate.  The  red  of 
her  outspoken  resentment  still  mottled  her  cheeks, 
but  her  eyes  held  a  question.  Her  lips  opened,  as 
If  about  to  voice  it,  then  closed  in  a  stiff  line. 

"That,"  Parker  answered,  **is  a  picture  of  the 


178     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

woman  I  always  have  respected  most  in  the  world 
— that  Is,  most  until  I  met  you." 

"Is  she,  then,  a  woman  grown?"  Vernaluska's  sur- 
prise seemed  genuine.  "I  calculated  she  was  just  a 
child." 

He  nodded.  "Looking  at  it,  I  never  notice  that 
the  subject  isn't  completely  dressed.  We  think  a 
whole  lot  more  of  the  beauty  in  which  God  Him- 
self clothes  a  woman — we  artists — than  of  what  her 
dressmaker  supplies.  You  have  artistic  apprecia- 
tion, too,  Verne.     Don't  you  agree  with  me?" 

"I  reckon  a  collar  of  any  goods,  even  a  flower, 
would  spoil  her,"  the  girl  of  the  mountains  admit- 
ted. 

Her  glance  swerved,  from  a  guilty  remembrance 
of  the  correction  of  his  painting  which  she  had  been 
about  to  make  when  the  first  move  of  his  return  to 
consciousness  had  interrupted. 

"Likely  you  don't  mean  any  harm  using  my  face 
and  my" — she  hesitated,  then  finished  bravely 
enough — "my  hair  in  your  picture.  Likely  I'm  too 
particular  about  myself.  You  see,  I've  never  worn 
what  you  city  folk  would  call  a  party  dress.  I  had 
a  graduation  one,  though — white  organdy  with  a 
lavender  sash.  It  cost  several  jugs  of  bumblings.  The 
girls  at  the  school  over  across  the  mountains  said 
it  was  beautiful,  but,  at  that,  it  wasn't  what  your 
kind  would  call  a  party  dress." 

"You  child — you  real  girl!"  Above  his  pity  for 
himself,  pity  for  her  arose  in  Parker  that  she  had 
missed  the  thousand-and-one  soft  perquisites  of  girl- 
hood which  her  loveliness  of  looks  and  thoughts  de- 
served. Returning  to  the  table,  he  gazed  across 
at  her  wistfully.    "I  am  glad  you  believe  that  I  feel 


SEE  YOURSELF  179 

no  disrespect  in  painting  you  as  Spring.  There  is 
nothing  now,  is  there,  to  prevent  our  being  friends? 

'Triends?" 

*Tes." 

'Triendsr 

At  her  caustic  repetition,  he  felt  disturbed  anew. 

*'Why  not?  You  have  shown  yourself  friendly 
in  acts,  if  not  in  words.  You  must  like  me  a  little, 
or  you  wouldn't  have  been  so  kind  to  me  ever  since 
that  first  day." 

"Like  you?    I  despise  you!" 

Parker  eased  his  right  arm  as  best  he  could  on 
the  table-top  and  looked  up  at  her,  deeply  distressed. 
"I  don't  wish  to  seem  over-Insistent,  but  if  you 
despise  me,  why  did  you  come  to  see  me  to-day — 
why  that  other  day  when " 

"Hasn't  somebody  got  to  keep  watch  over  a  rev- 
enue slick?"  she  snapped.  "I  persuaded  my  folks 
to  appoint  me  for  this  particular  job." 

"But  you  took  the  cartridges  out  of  the  gun  yes- 
terday to  save  me." 

"To  save  youl  There's  a  nary  thought  in  any- 
thing I've  done  except  to  save  my  pappy  and  my 
brother  from  the  consequences  of  their  foollshment. 
I  want  to  get  them  out  of  danger  from  the  law  be- 
fore the  law  gets  them  in.  So  you  calculated  I  was 
keen  about  you — I,  Verney  Metcalf — because  I'd 
taken  notice  of  your  existence,  because  I  had  my  own 
reasons  for  toting  you  that  jug  of  bumbllngs?" 

"I  promised — haven't  I  kept  my  promise?'* 

"For  a  day,  yes.  But  you've  done  more  than 
keep  your  promise.  Whether  you  are  a  revenuer  or 
not,  you're  a  right  poor  excuse  of  a  man.  Look 
around  at  the  cabin,  at  the  floor,  at  yourself.    Then 


i8o     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

look  at  that  picture  and  think  what  you  ought  to  be." 

"You  think  my  picture  good?" 

*'Good?  It  is  wonderful/  It  is  so  wonderful  that 
it,  not  you,  has  done  wheedled  me  into  forgiving 
you  for  imagining  what  no  mortal  man  has  ever  seen 
of  me.  It  is  so  wonderful  that  when  I  look  at  it, 
when  I  think " 

Her  voice  faltered  in  a  sob. 

Surprised,  the  artist  concentrated  in  his  regard  of 
her. 

She  was  standing  before  the  easel,  her  hands 
clasped  against  the  rounded  busts  which  he  had 
dared  to  portray.  Something  sparkled  down  the 
crimson  of  her  cheeks. 

Peering  more  closely,  he  saw,  to  his  joy  and  dis- 
may, that  two  tears  had  stumbled  from  her  eyes. 

"Verne,"  he  whispered  over  the  wall  which  she 
was  raising  between  them.     ^'Verne.'^ 

"Oh,  it  ain't  the  looks  of  It  that  gets  me — I  don't 
admire  myself  enough  for  that.    It's  the — the " 

Again  she  fumbled  for  expression. 

"Inspiration — the  promise  of  creation  fulfilled — 
Spring,"  he  supplied.     "My  picture  must  be  good!" 

She  turned  on  him  as  if  to  slay  him  for  his  ex- 
ultation. 

"I  reckon  I  can  pity  a  good-for-nothing  unfortu- 
nate as  much  as  anybody,  but  you " 

"Don't  say  that  you  despise  me  again,  Verne. 
Don't  be  too  hard  on  me." 

"Too  hard  on  you,  when  youVe  been  given  every- 
thing— a  body  that  ought  to  be  strong,  a  mind  that 
ought  to  be  clean,  education,  talent,  training?  What 
right  have  you  got  to  be  bound  up  in  yourself  and 
your  appetite?" 


SEE  YOURSELF  i8i 

"Just  what  the  Parker  fossils  have  always  ar- 
gued I" 

At  her  stare,  he  amplified:  *'My  progenitors, 
you  know.  They  were  a  pretty  decent  lot,  I  guess. 
One  thing  Is  sure,  they  are  more  persevering  dead 
than  most  people  living.  They  never  let  up  on  me 
when  I'm  sober.  That's  one  reason  I  drink — to 
get  away  from  them.  I  won't  let  them  or  anybody 
else  make  up  my  mind  for  me." 

*^You  mean  you  swiggle  this  way  just  from  mule 
ornerlness?" 

"That  was  it  originally — from  perversity.  But 
now  I've  come  to  depend  on  It  for  excitement.  You 
see,  I've  been  sort  of  a  sensational  drinker." 

"And  proud  of  It?'^ 

"Not  any  more.  What  you  don't  see  is  that  I 
intended  never  to  be  this  way  again.  Being  a  Par- 
ker, I  always  keep  my  word  to  other  people,  and  I 
thought  I  could  keep  this  word  to  myself.  I  didn't 
dream  I  had  degenerated  into  such  a  puny  thing. 
I  am  disappointed  and — and  ashamed.  I  want  to 
grow  strong.  I  must  get  back  my  self-respect  and 
yours.    I — I  seem  to  need  help,  don't  I?" 

She  glanced  toward  the  photograph  on  the  mantel. 
"I  reckon  nothing  outside  a  man's  self  can  help  him 
much.  If  he  don't  pleasure  in  cleanness." 

"But  I  do — from  my  heart  I  do."  Parker's  face 
showed  emotion.  Haltingly,  he  uplifted  a  sort  of 
prayer:  "You  are  so  strong,  Verne;  won't  you  help 
me  to  grow  strong?  Last  night,  before  I  lost  my- 
self, you  seemed  to  be  bringing  life.  That's  how  I 
came  to  paint  your  picture.  If  you  have  trust 
enough,  mercy  enough,  won't  you  befriend  me? 
Won't  you — can't  you  even  pity  me?" 


i82     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

Her  eyes  were  now  full  on  his,  consideringly. 

*'I  can  pity,  yes,"  she  admitted,  *'and  I,  too,  can 
keep  my  word  to  another — to  you,  if  I  give  it  I" 

"Then,  Verne,  inspire  me  and  give  me  your  word! 
Yours  is  the  spirit  of  the  picture — Spring,  that  can 
make  things  grow  up  from  the  dead.  You  find  me 
beaten  to  earth  from  my  long  winter  of  gluttony; 
won't  you  help  me  to  lift  myself,  help  me  to  grow?" 


CHAPTER  XX 

COURT   OF    HILLS 

To  an  open  place  on  the  Fallaway's  edge,  Ver- 
naluska  led  the  way.  From  below,  the  valley  smiled 
up  at  them  with  a  million  flower  eyes,  a  million  lips 
of  green.  On  the  other  side  loomed  a  semicircle  of 
rugged  peaks  and  tree-clad  domes. 

"Yonder  is  my  court  of  hills,"  she  introduced, 
before  seating  herself  on  the  ground  to  face  them. 

Parker  disposed  himself  beside  her.  His  arm  was 
relieved  by  a  sling  of  her  devisement,  his  inner  man 
fortified  by  the  coffee  she  had  made  and  shared. 

So  far,  her  response  to  his  plea  had  taken  the 
language  of  action,  except  for  one  verbal  comment 
that  had  carried  hope. 

"You  say  you-all's  mother  is  long  dead;  likely 
you  do  need  some  homely  advice." 

Now,  from  the  woods  behind  came  the  moaning 
call  of  a  dove — a  coo  drawn  out  with  many  o's. 
Parker  shivered.  It  sounded  helpless,  despairing, 
ineffectual,  a  good  deal  as  he  felt.  He  glanced  up 
at  the  girl.  She  was  looking  into  the  view,  evidently 
thinking.  After  a  while,  she  began  to  speak  slowly, 
as  if  picking  her  words  with  care. 

"When  I  was  a  little  girl,  my  pappy  took  me  to 
a  trial  down  at  the  county-seat.  Ever  since  I've 
thought  of  the  Blue  Ridge  as  my  court-house,  yon 

183 


184     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

peaks  as  judge  and  jury.  Turn  to  the  left,  stranger, 
and  face  His  Honor,  Crumbly  Bald." 

Obeying  her  free  gesture,  Parker  again  viewed 
the  bare-topped  dome  that  towered  highest  of  the 
range. 

"He's  got  a  pesky  temper,  has  Judge  Bald,"  she 
continued.  "Folks  hereabouts  allow  that  what's 
wrong  with  him  is  my  being  given  one  of  his  family 
names,  but  I  say  it's  because  dad's  enemy,  Dode 
Currie,  owned  him  before  he  died  and  passed  him 
down  to  Rex." 

She  identified  Thunderhead  and  Keerless  Knob, 
whose  shiny  cliffs,  too,  had  lost  their  "hair"; 
Hickory  Nut  Mountain,  down  in  the  front  row  and 
hard  to  convince;  Stretch  Neck,  tall  and  leaning,  the 
curiosity-obsessed  of  the  panel;  the  several  suffrage 
members — DIsputana,  New  Wife,  Barren  She,  and 
Chunky  Gal — these  glowered  upon  by  Big  Butte, 
Whoop-for-Sam,  and  Standing  Stone. 

She  approved  them  to  her  client. 

"These  twelve  good  mountains  and  true  always 
render  just  verdicts  because  they  share  the  highest 
ideals.  Guilty  or  not  guilty,  what  do  you  plead, 
prisoner  at  the  bar?" 

"Guilty!"  he  murmured. 

But  perplexity  still  was  written  plain  upon  his 
face. 

"Don't  you  see  what  I  mean?"  she  urged.  "Na- 
ture is  the  fairest  judge  and  jury.  The  closer  we- 
all  get  to  her,  the  more  we  show  what  we  actually 
are.  In  the  cities  where  you  come  from  there  are 
high  walls  that  shut  out  the  sky  and  there  are  so 
many  folks  around  you,  watching  you,  judging  you 
by  their  own  standards,  that  you're  plumb  forced 


COURT  OF  HILLS  185 

to  pretend.  But  now  that  you're  alone  in  the  hills 
there's  no  use  to  pretend.  Nature  demands  hon- 
esty and,  sooner  or  later,  you'll  be  shown  up  for 
just  what  you  really  are." 

*'I  shudder  at  the  thought,"  Parker  exclaimed, 
his  dark  eyes  for  once  avoiding  the  fawn-green 
ones. 

*'If  you  intend  well  in  the  future,  no  matter  what 
you  have  done  in  the  past,  they-all  will  temper  the 
sentence.  If  you  mean  what  you  said  in  the  shack 
yonder,  we'll  proceed  with  the  trial." 

"I  mean  it." 

His  tone  was  low,  hut  one  she  could  not  doubt. 

*'And  you-all  will  give  honest  testimony,  regard- 
less of  how  they  press  you?" 

**Sohelpme!" 

He  arose  and  faced  the  twelve  as  he  took  the 
oath. 

After  a  moment  he  spoke  to  the  girl.  "I  never 
really  made  up  my  mind  before;  other  folks  always 
had  it  ready-made  for  me.  Never  have  I  thought 
of  quitting  for  my  own  sake;  it  was  always  to  please 
some  one  else." 

''You'll  chuck  out  the  lawyer  you've  been  retain- 
ing?" 

The  ghost  of  the  Cal  Parker  fascination  limped  in 
on  his  smile. 

"Yes."  He  nodded  emphatically.  ''His  name  is 
Compromise — the  most  famous  of  drink-control 
shysters.  From  this  moment  I  place  myself  at  the 
mercy  of  your  court  of  hills." 

His  concentration  on  the  metaphor  was  proved 
by  the  fact  that  he  forgot  his  sling  in  reaching  to 
help  his  new  counsel  to  her  feet.     For  the  first  time 


I 


i86    FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

the  hands  of  the  *'out-Norther"  and  the  mountain 
girl  clasped — but  guardedly. 

Although  he  in  his  fervor  had  forgotten,  she  had 
not,  his  burn  from  past  debauch. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

*'hi,  verneyT* 

The  bray  of  an  ass  was  the  third  sign. 

The  first  had  been  a  note  found  by  Parker  tucked 
under  the  back  door  of  the  Rim  shack  on  his  return 
the  evening  before  from  an  exercise  ride  upon  Tee- 
totaler. 

This  had  read: 

Heaven  Sent: 

We  take  this  Surreptitious  means  of  communicating  with 
you,  realizing  full  well  the  danger  of  your  seeking  Com- 
munication with  us.  Not  that  we  are  impatient  with  your 
Progress,  but  we  wish  to  help  you,  in  so  far  as  Strength  is 
given  us,  to  Victory.  To  ease  your  mind,  we  report  that 
none  of  the  Stalwarts  has  suffered  ill-effects  from  that  onto- 
ward  Razzle  Dazzle,  from  the  entombing  of  which  your 
bravery  extricated  us. 

What  with  the  Carnival  coming  on  in  less  than  a  fort- 
night, we  Pray  that  you  will  be  able  to  put  out  the  Arch- 
Enemy's  light-house  before  that  Event,  so  that  all  may  enjoy 
a  nice,  dry  time  in  honor  of  North  Carolina's  stand  for 
sobriety.  Naturally,  said  enemy  is  stilling  hard  in  order 
that  the  Carnival  may  be  made  a  Riot  of  Wanton  Wine. 

We  are  credibly  informed  as  to  the  location  of  a  new 
Branch  of  this  Pernicious  Operandum.  Directions  will  be 
\  furnished  on  application,  by  Sister  Sally  Shortoff,  who  mis- 
understood your  Motives  cruelly  on  first  acquaintance.  Do 
be  Careful.  And  remember  that  each  night  our  Prayers  for 
your  Safety  ascend  to  Heaven  Above. 

Yours  in  the  Fight  for  Right, 

Glory  Be! 

187 


i88     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

Guided  by  this  capriciously  capitalized,  tlny- 
scrlpted,  code-signed  missive,  whose  authorship 
could  only  be  that  of  Aunt  Hootie  Plott,  he  had 
sought  and  found  the  second  sign  that  morning. 
The  turn-coat  manner  and  prolific  Instruction  of 
Mistress  Sally,  at  work  in  the  corn  field,  were  se- 
quential. 

She  had  not  quite  got  his  *'color"  that  other  day, 
she  admitted,  although  she  practically  had  given 
him  the  finest  nag  In  the  Blue  Ridge,  a  transaction 
which  she  had  ceased  to  regret  only  on  learning 
that  Teetotaler  was  thereby  elected  to  an  important 
ofl^ce  in  the  *'cause."  That  he  "take  them  blockade 
varmints  In  the  act"  was  her  advice.  Strange  doings 
had  been  observed  through  the  brush  by  Bide  and 
herself  when  out  retrieving  their  "jump-devir' 
heifers  a  couple  of  days  before. 

Fearful  of  discovery  by  Old  Tom  Metcalf,  who. 
of  course  was  the  "arch-enemy"  referred  to  in  the 
note,  Sally  had  stayed  only  long  enough  to  locate 
what  she  confidently  believed  to  be  a  newly  planted 
lair  of  the  enemy.  Aunt  Hootie  had  advised  trusting 
all  to  him.  So  be  it.  To  Parker,  then,  the  honor 
of  uncovering  the  secrets  housed  within  a  padlocked 
lean-to  built  against  the  bank  of  Rattlesnake  Run  I 

Now  the  braying  of  an  ass,  sign  No.  3,  rewarded 
his  ride  over  the  trail  mapped  out  for  him  by  the 
hill-country  zealot.  The  refreshing  sound  of  a  small 
water-fall  further  assured  him  that  he  had  come 
aright.  He  urged  the  piebald  into  a  criss-cross  ford- 
ing of  Roaring  Fork. 

On  "yan"  side  the  oft-branching  waters  he  dis- 
mounted, looped  the  reins  over  a  bush,  and  started 


"HI,  VERNE Y  I"  189 

afoot  along  the  Indistinct  trail  beside  the  tributary. 
His  going  was  the  more  eager  in  that  the  third  sign, 
said  to  be  the  charm,  had  been  that  peculiarly  tune- 
less, sea-saw  bray. 

His  first  triumph  awaited  around  a  bend  in  the 
branch — the  sight  of  red-legged  Solomon  engaged 
In  a  strange  occupation.  Traced  to  the  end  of  a 
long,  curved  beam,  which  turned  an  upright  shaft 
planted  in  a  box,  the  mule  was  walking,  slow-footed, 
In  a  circle.  Parker  halted  a  moment  to  survey  this 
motion-picture  and  the  clay  bank  which  effectively 
formed  its  background. 

Where  had  he  heard  about  the  stirring  of  the 
mash,  the  mixing  of  sweet  corn  and  malt,  he  won- 
dered? That  was  what  Vernaluska's  noble  steed 
must  be  doing — taking  the  first  steps  in  the  making 
of  spirits  from  corn. 

With  the  probability  that  at  last  he  had  discovered 
the  still-house  of  the  Metcalfs;  that  now  he  could 
prove  himself  without  design  against  the  "cantanker- 
ous" by  faithfully  sharing  the  family  secret,  exulta- 
tion started  him  precipitately  forward. 

Beside  the  grinding  box,  however,  he  saw  at  once 

that  the  mass  being  combed  by  the  wooden  teeth 

at  the  end  of  the  upright  shaft  could  not  be  any 

compound   of  grain;  was.   Instead,   a   slate-colored 

substance  which  looked  more  like  clay.    As  he  leaned 

to  examine  It,  Solomon  stopped,  blinked,  drew  back 

his  lip — surveyed  him,  altogether,  with  an  expres- 

„  slon  of  Intolerable  levity. 

\      "Be  about  It,  Sol!    Quit  your  loaferlng!" 

j      The  admonition  came  from  the  other  side  of  the 

bank  from  which,  probably,  the  clay  under  process 


igo     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

had  been  dug.  It  was  voiced  In  the  resonant  con- 
tralto of  the  mountain  girl.  Solomon,  with  a  grunt 
that  might  have  meant  either  protest  or  indifference, 
resumed  his  plodding. 

"What  the  Sam  Hill  is  the  idea?" 

The  mental  query  speeded  Parker  around  the  jut- 
ting bank.    There  he  was  halted  by  another  puzzle. 

The  Metcalf  girl  was  seated  upon  a  low  stool 
before  a  wheel  which  she  turned  with  a  foot-treadle; 
evidently  she  neither  had  seen  nor  heard  his  ap- 
proach. Her  splendid  hair  was  uncovered  and 
loosely  coiled  on  the  nape  of  her  neck,  which  showed 
where  the  collar  opened  to  be  white  as  the  flowers 
of  a  white  rhododendron-bush  just  beyond  her.  Her 
print  sleeves,  rolled  up,  revealed  upper  arms  of  the 
same  satiny,  pure  texture. 

Very  brown,  by  contrast,  looked  the  long,  strong 
hands  which  were  shaping  a  loaf  of  clay  into  what 
resembled  a  gallon  jug.  She  was  sheltered  from  the 
sun  by  an  overhang  of  boughs  that  extended  from 
a  small  log  structure  built  against  the  bank,  evi- 
dently the  lean-to  of  Mistress  Sally's  suspicion. 
Further,  toward  the  creek,  stretched  a  low  vault, 
built  of  clay-chinked  rocks  whose  chimney  suggested 
an  oven  for  the  baking  of  her  product.  M 

Both  disappointment  and  Interest  held  Parker, 
that  he  should  have  found,  in  this  supposed  lair 
of  the  "arch-enemy,'^  the  sylvan  setting  of  so  inno- 
cent an  Industry.  He  stepped  from  the  shadow  of 
the  bank,  doffed  his  cap,  bowed  with  that  charm  of 
manner  handed  direct  to  him  from  all  the  other 
Parkers. 

"Good  morning.  Miss  Potter,  near  your  modest 


I 


"HI,  VERNE Y!''  191 

cot,  shaping  many  an  urn  and  pot,"  he  hailed  her, 
with  unvoiced  apologies  to  Khayyam. 

The  girl  sprang  to  her  feet,  glanced  nervously 
back  at  the  lean-to,  then  at  him. 

*'Why  are  you-all  trailing  me  this  very  first  morn- 
ing after  I  thought  I  had  you  settled  to  better  ways?" 

With  a  flourish  of  his  cap  toward  her  work,  he 
continued  his  transposition: 

"To  see  how  you  take  clay  'from  earthen  things, 
from  beggars'  feet,  and  the  head  of  kings.'  " 

Perplexity  tempered  her  displeasure,  then  the 
twitch  of  a  smile:  "Do  you-uns  come  as  beggar  or 
as  king?" 

"As  both.  I  beg  you  and  command  you  to  tell 
me  what  the  dickens  you  and  friend  Solomon  are 
doing?" 

"And  I  beg  and  command  you  to  get  about  your 
own  business."  She  turned  her  back,  then  added 
significantly  over  one  shoulder:  "Look  out  you 
don't  get  snake-bit  going  down  the  run." 

He  answered  in  metaphor:  "I've  heard  a  few 
rattlers  since  coming  to  the  Blue  Ridge,  but  I'm 
not  afraid  of  gentlemanly  snakes.  It's  hard  to  as- 
sociate you  with  anything  so  wriggly  and  ugly  as  a 
snake,  IvIIss  Metcalf,  and  certainly  you  said  noth- 
ing yesterday  on  Fallaway  to  forbid  my  visiting  you 
in  your  workshop." 

"I  ain't  receiving  visitors  to-day  and  what  I  see 
fitten  to  work  at  is  my  own  secret." 

"A  secret  may  remain  safe  between  two,"  he 
suggested,  sauntering  around  so  that  she  had  to 
face  him,  focusing  the  sunlight  of  his  smile  upon 
the  storm  signs  of  her  resentment.     "Anyhow,  your 


192     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

mule  Invited  my  horse,  so  you  have  the  wisdom  of 
Solomon  to  blame.  If  you  really  do  want  to  keep 
the  location  of  your  factory  a  secret,  you  should  ac- 
quire a  silencer — the  sort  your  friend  Currle  has 
for  his  'charmed'  gun — for  that  bray-muzzle.  Since 
Fm  here,  won't  you  Invite  me  to  have  a  chair,  fair 
mentor?" 

*'I  certainly  won't — leastwise  I  can't." 
The  recalcitrant  dimple  of  twice  before  suggested 
Its  continued  existence  as  she  plumped  herself  down 
upon  the  only  stool. 

j  *'Thank  you  so  much — a  seat  Is  what  I  meant." 
Parker  hunched  himself  down  on  the  ground  before 
her,  both  arms  affectionately  clasping  his  knees.  *T 
think  It  Is  very  clever  of  you  to  do  your  share  of 
the  family  work.  I  wouldn't  for  anything  have 
missed  this  revelation  of  you  making  the  demijohns 

for " 

!  "You  think  I  make  the  jugs  for  dad's  bumbllngs?'* 
<With  the  interruption,  she  sprang  back  so  suddenly 
that  the  large  pottery  piece  which  she  had  been  fash- 
ioning, as  if  to  second  her  denial,  fell  off  the  wheel 
into  a  shapeless  mass  on  the  ground.    *'You  actually 

believe  that  I <' 

i  "There's  nothing  criminal  in  your  participation, 
except  telling  your  client  fibs  about  It,"  he  Insisted. 
j"The  law  might  consider  you  in  the  light  of  acces- 
sory to  illicit  output,  but  not  I." 

"Say,  stranger,  you-all  come  along  with  me." 

She  started  toward  the  log  structure.     From  the 

3oorway  she  beckoned  impatiently  for  him  to  hurry. 

i     Further   arguments    for   the    case   in   hand   had 

been  forming  in  Parker's  mind,  but  when  he  lined 


''HI,  VERNEYI"  193 

up  beside  her  just  within  the  sill,  he  became  speech- 
less with  amazement.  , 

The  hut  was  a  storehouse,  with  shelves  running 
around  the  walls,  and  without  furniture  except  for 
two  tables.  Upon  these  were  displayed  earthenware 
of  many  shapes,  colors  and  sizes,  with  not  one  among 
them  that  looked  a  suitable  container  for  corn-juice. 
Jugs,  urns,  vases  there  v/ere  of  brown,  of  vermlllion, 
of  green,  blue,  and  gray.  1 

With  a  murmured  plea  for  permission,  he  ad- 
vanced Into  the  room  and  lifted  one  of  the  nearest 
Into  the  sunlight  shafting  through  the  open  door. 
An  exclamation  of  surprise  escaped  him,  for  It  was 
a  vase  unique  and  quite  effective  In  design — its  base 
the  colled  tail  of  a  copper-head  snake.  Its  body  the 
Inflated  middle,  its  neck  the  wide-flung,  V-shaped 
mouth.  In  It,  both  viciousness  and  grace  were  pre- 
sented; the  mottled  coloring  was  faithfully  repro- 
duced. 

Replacing  the  vase,  Parker  glanced  wonderlngly 
at  the  girl.  She  stood  In  the  doorway  watching  him, 
answering  his  look  by  neither  smile  nor  frown.  He 
got  an  idea  of  her  at  that  moment  which  he  never 
lost — that  she  was  proud  to  arrogance,  yet  humble 
almost  to  shame.  So  Intense  he  felt  her  to  be  that 
he  restrained  any  light  expression  and  returned  to 
her  pottery. 

He  discovered  a  jug  of  the  shape  she  had  been 
turning  on  the  wheel.  Finished,  it  ceased  to  sug- 
gest itself  as  a  mere  container,  appeared  rather  an 
object  of  crude  art.  Its  slender  neck  decorated  by  a 
design  of  leaves  In  bas-relief. 

This  he  relinquished  on  espying  one  of  a  particu- 
larly appealing  subject — a  red  chlckeree  with  arched 


194    FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

back,  upholding  In  Its  forepaws  a  pine  cone,  among 
the  prickly  leaves  of  which  its  sharp  nose  was  search- 
ing for  piiions. 

"Wherever  did  you  learn  to  put  this  life-touch 
into  clay?"  he  asked. 

"You  think  they  have  a  life-touch?" 

She  spoke  diffidently,  but  her  eyes  demanded  the 
truth. 

"They  are  rather  exceptional,  I  should  say.  Of 
course,  such  ability  to  suggest  motion,  to  copy  colors, 
to  effect  differences  of  texture  must  be  inherent,  but 
who  taught  you  modeling?" 

"That  came  as  natural  to  my  fingers,  I  reckon, 
as  teeth  to  my  gums.  Uncle  Steve — he  taught  me 
all  he  knew." 

She  had  made  jugs,  she  further  explained,  since 
she  had  been  old  enough  to  play  In  mud,  the  word 
being  generic  for  all  forms  of  her  work.  The  rela- 
tive referred  to,  long  since  departed,  had  been  an 
assiduous  "jugger"  In  his  day.  Not  until  she  had 
gone  over  the  mountains  to  school,  however^  had 
she  set  any  particular  store  by  her  talent. 

"You  wish  to  make  a  career  of  it?"  he  asked. 
"You  can,  I  believe." 

She  nodded,  then  qualified  her  agreement:  'T 
wish  to  make  money  out  of  It." 

"You  mean  that  these  things  are  for  sale?  This 
Mr.  Squirrel  with  the  pine  cone" — he  lifted  the  con- 
ceit— "may  I  obtain  It  by  right  of  purchase?  It 
reminds  me  of — ^well,  of  some  personal  friends. 
How  much  will  you  take  for  it?" 

"How  much  will  you  give?" 

She  took  an  eager  step  toward  him,  a  flush  of 
excitement  staining  her  cheek. 


"HI,  VERNEY!"  195 

^'Whatever  you  think  it  worth — ten,  twenty " 

*'You-aIl  talking  cents  or  dollars?" 

"Dollars,  of  course.    What  do  you  say?" 

*'I  say "  She  hesitated,  in  an  apparent  con- 
flict of  avidity  and  self-depreciation.  "It  appears 
like  ten  dollars  is  a  sight  more  than  it's  worth,  but 
I'd  be  right  glad  of  the  money." 

Parker  wondered  at  the  trembling  of  her  hands 
as  she  accepted  the  crisp  bill  he  extended  and  pinned 
it  carefully  inside  the  pocket  of  her  gingham  dress. 

"I  understand,"  he  said  aloud,  as  a  sort  of  apol- 
ogy for  her  lust  for  lucre.  "The  bank-note  is  sym- 
bolic, as  it  were,  of  the  value  of  your  art." 

"No,  sir,  it  ain't  any  symbol  to  me.  It's  money. 
That's  what  I  want,  and  what  I'm  going  to  have. 
There  are  faults  in  my  work  same  as  in  my  school- 
ing. When  it's  good,  it's  only  a  happen-so.  But 
I'm  set  on  improving  my  jugs  just  as  I  am  on  learn- 
ing to  speak  fine,  like  you  outside  folks.  At  school 
I  got  a  kind  of  understanding  of  English,  and  I 
downright  enjoy  reading.  But  somehow  I  get  plumb 
— ^that  is,  very  discouraged." 

"All  you  need  is  a  little  application  and  practice, 
Verne.  And,  say,  why  can't  you  practice  on  me? 
Look  at  it  as  your  rightful  fee  for  representing  me 
before  the  court  of  hills.  Won't  you  let  me  be  a 
pal,  let  me  help  you — that  is,  if  you  think  I  can?" 

"You-all  could  help  me  a  lot,"  she  began,  with 
an  air  of  consideration,  "if " 

"Hi,  Verneyl     Where  be  you?" 

The  interrupting  call,  although  from  some  dis- 
tance, sounded  raucous,  impatient. 

The  girl  made  no  attempt  to  continue.    She  stood, 


196     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

a  look  of  apprehension  on  her  face,  her  body  at 
tension. 

She  took  a  quick  step  toward  Parker,  then 
stopped,  threw  up  her  head,  seemed  strengthened 
by  sudden  decision.  Turning,  she  hurried  to  the 
door  and  answered: 

*'H1,  Rexle!     Where  be  youT' 

From  the  path  that  shelved  toward  the  water- 
fall strode  a  suitor  who  might  have  quickened  the 
pulse  of  any  girl — the  personable  hillbilly  at  his 
best.  Carefully  dressed  In  a  new  suit  and  hat, 
splendidly  fit,  his  face  alight  from  more  than  eager- 
ness, he  hurried  to  meet  her,  caught  both  her  hands 
in  his,  leaned  to  see  how  It  fared  with  her  by  a  close 
look  Into  her  eyes. 

*'How  come  you  back  so  soon.  Rex?  Tom  ain't 
expecting  you  for  a  couple  of  days  yet.'* 
'  Currle  did  not  at  once  answer.  In  fact,  his  lips 
looked  too  stiff  to  speak.  A  change  had  come  into 
his  expression,  not  so  much  from  the  doubtful  gra- 
clousness  of  her  greeting,  probably,  as  from  what 
he  had  seen  within  the  hut  when  leaning  forward 
to  peer  into  her  eyes.  His  clutch  relaxed;  he  dropped 
her  hands.  All  that  light  of  something  more  than 
eagerness  was  snuffed  out  of  his  face. 

*'And  you,  Verney,"  he  said  at  last  In  a  low,  dan- 
gerous voice,  *'I  see  you  weren't  expecting  me, 
either." 

Parker,  appreciating  that  once  again  his  pres- 
ence was  unwelcome,  sauntered  forward  as  he  might 
have  done  to  greet  an  enemy  accidentally  encoun- 
tered at  some  pink-shaded  tea-table  of  a  mutual 
friend. 


*'HI,  VERNEY!"  197 

**How  are  you,  Currle?"  he  said,  and,  from  force 
of  habit,  extended  the  hand  of  the  burned  right 
arm. 

But  the  hillbilly  seemed  not  to  see.  He  stood 
tense  as  a  masterpiece  done  in  stone,  the  ruddiness 
gone  from  his  face,  his  lips  twisted,  his  unwilling 
right  clenched  into  a  knobbed  mallet. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

SLICK  AT  THAT 

From  his  talent  for  details  Parker  made  a  note 
of  the  fact  that  Currle  had  refused  to  shake  his 
hand.     It  armed  him  additionally  for  the  interview. 

"I'm  about  as  glad  to  see  you,"  he  added  pleas- 
antly, "as  you  to  see  me." 

He  held  himself  ready  for  any  manner  of  retort, 
whether  of  speech  or  action.  But  Currie's  reproach 
centered  first  upon  the  girl. 

"It's  the  government  spy  you're  so  wrapped  up 
in  that  you  didn't  hear  me  the  first  time  I  called,  is 
it?  Coming  up,  I  heard  the  champing  of  a  horse, 
but  I  wouldn't  have  believed,  without  I'd  caught  you 
breathing  inside  air  with  such  as — as  yon — that  it 
was  the  one-eyed  nag  I  heard  Sal  Shortoli  stung  him 
a-plenty  for.  I  nigh  sprained  a  good  team  to  get 
back  and  help  your  pappy  handle  him,  and  here  I 
find  you — in  this  of  all  places " 

"And  here  you  find  me  'tending  strictly  to  what's 
my  own  business  and  my  pappy's,  not  yours,"  inter- 
rupted Vernaluska,  in  a  voice,  with  a  look,  that 
warned  him.  "If  you-all  have  got  any  manners,  ot 
even  any  respect  for  orders " 

She  paused,  her  eyes  held  on  the  mallet  of  his 
fist. 

It  relaxed,  fingers  straightening,  and  hung  more 
like  a  hand  at  his  side. 

198 


SLICK  AT  THAT  199 

''I  may  not  be  strong  on  manncFS,"  he  admitted, 
*'but  you  have  taught  me  how  to  wait." 

"To  wait  for  what?"  she  demanded  sharply. 

His  irides  expanded  as  from  some  bold,  precon- 
ceiyed  scheme.  "For  two  things,  Verney.  One  is 
you.  The  other  is  Mr.  Slick  Parker,  if  he's  still 
around  when  I  get  ready  to  attend  to  him." 

"Mr.  Parker  has  been  telling  me" — she  chose  to 
disregard  the  menace  of  his  words  and  look — "that 
we-all  are  mistaken  in  his  calling.  He  says  it  is 
only  his  private  and  particular  business  that  is  hold- 
ing him  in  the  Blue  Ridge." 

"It  looks  like  that — mighty  private,  and  damn 
particular,"  said  the  hillbilly,  scowling. 

"Ease  off  on  him  a  mite.  Rex,"  she  said  In  a 
changed,  coaxing  way.  "He's  trying  to  be  friendly 
— has  done  opened  the  way  for  me  to  make  you  a 
better  offer  for  your  mountain." 

"His  mountain?"  queried  Parker. 

She  nodded.  "Crumbly  Bald,  that  I'm  christened 
after.  I  was  telling  you  yesterday  about  how  it 
came  down  to  Rex  through  his  father,  who  never 
would  let  my  dad  buy  it  because  of  an  old  spite  be- 
tween them.  I'm  asking  Rex,  as  a  personal  favor, 
to  sell  to  us  what  ain't — isn't  any  use  on  earth  to 
him." 

In  the  Interest  of  his  opposition,  Currle  chose  to 
disregard  the  presence  of  the  outsider. 

*'And  I'm  doing  you  a  personal  favor  to  flat  re- 
fuse," he  declared.  "Your  pap's  a  mite  off  or  he 
wouldn't  want  to  buy  the  worthless  stone-pile,  and 
you  know  it.  I've  got  an  idea  that  his  hope  of  tak- 
ing over  my  title  is  all  he  lets  me  stick  around  here 
for.     You  don't  know  a  real  friend  when  you've 


200     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

got  one,  Verney  Metcalf.  Hell's  fire,  don't  you 
reckon  I'd  be  glad  enough  to  sell  It  for  money  if  It 
was  robbing  any  one  but  you,  Hon?" 

But  Vernaluska  insisted,  and  brought  to  bear 
the  battery  of  her  smiles  as  she  stepped  closed  to 
the  obstinate  owner. 

"Dad  may  be  a  mite  off  in  wanting  it,"  she  said, 
her  voice  sweetening,  "but  since  he  does  want  it 
so  much  that  he's  sworn  to  me  he'll  quit  stilling 
after  he  gets  it —  Listen,  Rexey,  I  offer  you  five  hun- 
dred dollars  for  Grumbly  Bald,  and  here's  some- 
thing to  bind  the  bargain." 

Currie's  eyes  widened  as  she  produced  from  the 
pocket  of  her  dress  a  bank-note  and  fluttered  it 
temptingly. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  you  took  that  from " 

"I've  sold  the  first  of  what  you've  always  said 
were  no-account  jugs — sold  it  for  sure-enough 
money,"  she  interrupted,  with  a  triumphant  look. 
"If  I  can  sell  one,  don't  you  reckon  I  can  sell  many? 
There  are  rich  folks  over  AshevIUe  and  Blltmore 
ways,  folks  that  buy  what  they  fancy  and  don't  care 
particular  about  the  price.  I'm  going  over  there 
soon  with  all  Solomon  can  pack,  and  do  some  thrifty 
peddling.  I'll  have  you  paid  off  in  such  a  jiffy  you 
won't  know  what's  been  happening." 

"You'll  jiffy  yourself  Into  jail — that's  what'll 
happen!" 

There  was  no  doubting  Currie's  antagonism  to- 
ward her  offer,  although  his  eyes  lit  strangely  as 
her  face  lifted  to  his  and  the  hand  fondling  the 
watch-chain  that  spanned  his  vest-front  grew  addi- 
tionally nervous.  Lie  reached  out,  caught  the  flut- 
tering sleeve   of  her  waist  between  his  powerful 


SLICK  AT  THAT  201 

thumb  and  forefinger,  pinched  the  cloth  until  his 
knuckles  showed  white. 

"Verney-girl,  what  you  ask  ain't  good  for  you  to 
have,"  he  continued  his  appeal  in  a  lowered,  husky 
voice.  *'When  my  one  idea  is  to  get  you  out  of 
here,  you  want  to  go  and  dog-chain  yourself  to  a 
mountain !  Don't  you  know  that  when  the  blow- 
off  comes,  you'll  be  grabbed  by  the  law  same  as  your 
men  folks?" 

"Why  won't  you  see  what  I'm  getting  at,  Rex?" 
she  insisted.  *'Nary  one  of  us  will  be  grabbed  if 
you  sell  us  the  Bald.  Dad  w^ants  to  raise  goats  on 
it,  and  he's  sworn  himself  to  me,  I  keep  telling  you, 
to  quit  stilling  forever  as  soon  as " 

**You  don't  think  he  actually  would?  How 
soon?" 

An  arrested,  uneasy  look  for  a  moment  blotted 
the  ardor  of  his  face.  But  before  she,  surprised, 
could  frame  a  reply,  he  was  expanding  the  reason 
for  his  refusal  to  sell  to  her. 

"Tom's  idea  of  goats  is  plumb  foolish.  Not 
enough  brush  grows  on  the  Bald  to  feed  a  dozen 
woolly  grubbers.  He  wants  it  in  the  hope  of  get- 
ting shut  of  me,  him  thinking  I  ain't  good  enough 
to  travel  hitched  with  you.  He's  a  mite  silly,  Ver- 
ney,  and  you  might  as  well  face  it.  No  ma'am — 
the  answer  is  no!  My  own  pappy  wouldn't  sell  the 
old  growling  pile  of  stones  to  yours.  He  asked  me 
to  keep  a  hold  on  it,  and  I  reckon  I'll  be  bounden 
to  oblige  him,  unless " 

"Unless  some  acceptable  outside  purchaser  comes 
along?  Say,  Currie,  will  you  sell  me  that  mountain 
for  five  hundred  cash?" 

Parker   spoke   from   inspiration.     Possession   of 


202     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

Mount  Vernaluska  had,  all  In  a  flash  of  thought,  be- 
come his  dominant  desire. 

In  the  others  the  proposition  aroused  apparent 
astonishment.  Currie  dropped  the  girl's  sleeve. 
The  two  sprang  apart  and  faced  him. 

"You  don't  mean "  she  began. 

*'What  the  hell  do  you-uns  want  of  it?"  demanded 
the  hillbilly. 

"I  want  to  own  It."  Parker  spoke  convincingly, 
despite  his  quiet  voice  and  tired  smile.  "Five  hun- 
dred— on  the  spot." 

Antagonistically  the  countryman  stared  at  the 
New  Yorker  a  moment;  considered  cravingly  the 
girl  whom  he  had  elected  "to  save";  nodded  with 
sudden  decision. 

"You're  on,"  he  said. 

"But,  Rex,  you  wouldn't  sell  It  out  of  my  hands?" 
Vernaluska's  voice  was  a  wail,  her  clutch  on  his  arm 
that  of  despair.  "If  you  do,  you've  no  leave  ever  to 
think  of  me  again." 

Currie  laughed  in  a  hard  way.  "I'll  be  thinking 
all  the  same.  I'm  set  on  getting  you  away  from 
here,  and  I  generally  get  what  I'm  set  on.  If  the 
slick's  got  the  cash  the  Bald  is  his." 

Pride  seemed  to  outrun  her  protest.  She  with- 
drew to  her  work-bench;  from  a  seat  there  watched 
the  transaction. 

With  his  left  hand  Parker  drew  a  checkbook 
from  one  pocket  and  a  fountain  pen  from  another; 
painstakingly,  with  his  right,  began  to  write  a  check 
on  his  New  York  bank. 

But  Currie  made  objection.  "A  bit  of  paper 
hand-writ  by  yourself — do  you  reckon  I'd  take  that? 
You  said  cash." 


SLICK  AT  THAT  203 

*'North  Carolina  would  take  care  of  any  man 
who  gave  you  a  bad  check,"  said  Parker,  "but — 
Well,  here's  a  New  York  draft  which  you'll  have  no 
trouble  changing  Into  gold." 

From  his  wallet  he  selected  one  of  the  drafts 
which  he  carried  against  emergency,  and  endorsed 
it  to  Currle.  On  the  back  of  a  blank  check  he  pen- 
ned a  comprehensive  receipt  which  would  protect  his 
new  interest  until  a  formal  deed  might  be  handed 
over.  Both  of  these  and  the  pen  he  handed  the  hill- 
billy. He  realized  a  return  of  his  cordial  dislike 
when  Currle,  after  pocketing  the  draft  and  signing 
the  receipt,  returned  it  and  the  pen  with  a  frank 
sneer. 

"So-ho,  there's  graft  enough  in  revenulng,"  he 
said,  "that  you  can  deal  out  a  five-century  chunk 
without  missing  it — and  for  a  pile  of  rocks  that  ain't 
worth  one  crumble  of  salt!  Looks  plain  he's  mean- 
ing to  settle  hereabouts,  Verney,  until  he  finds  the 
Metcalf  still.  Likely  now  you'll  mark  what  I've 
told  you '* 

"I'll  mark  a  nary  thing  you've  ever  told  me,  Rex 
Currle,"  flashed  the  girl,  rising  and  stepping  up  to 
him.  "You  didn't  mark  what  I  told  you,  that  my 
hope  of  the  Bald  was  all  I've  been  working  toward. 
You  needn't  ever  think  of  me  again.  Take  your 
five  hundred  and " 

*'And  you,  honey — I'll  take  you,  too,  never  fear. 
You  know  I  wouldn't  ever  go  without  you.  You're 
a  mite  riled  up  now  because " 

"Which  or  whether,  get  out  of  my  sight!" 

At  her  vehemence  all  his  suavity  seemed  to  desert 
him. 

"You — ^you  order  me  out  before "    He  stam- 


204     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

mered,  his  face  flared,  his  breath  came  hard.  "You 
want  to  be  alone  with  him — to  hear  more  of  his 
soft-soap — to  tell  him,  maybe '* 

The  girl  watched  him,  at  first  apprehensive  lest 
he  was  about  to  end  In  a  physical  attack  the  contest 
with  the  stranger  who,  from  the  day  of  arrival,  had 
outwitted  him.  She  knew  that  he  was  still  hurting 
with  chagrin  over  his  failure  to  ship  Parker  back 
to  the  railroad,  the  tale  of  which,  spread  among 
the  wets  at  the  Gap,  had  made  him  the  subject  of 
none  too  subtle  jests.  From  that  she  could  esti- 
mate how  her  benefit  of  doubt  toward  his  enemy 
must  enrage  him.  But  this  apprehension  vanished  in 
a  greater  one.  She  saw  the  look  of  crafty  consider- 
ation in  his  face,  saw  that  some  new  resolve  had 
brought  him  self-control. 

"All  right,"  he  snapped.  "Since  I  ain't  wanted 
ni  go." 

With  which  he  turned  on  his  heel  and  started 
down  the  sheer  trail  that  led  to  the  falls. 

Vernaluska  crossed  to  the  bank,  peered  over  It, 
listened  to  make  sure  that  he  really  had  forded  the 
stream,  mounted  his  horse  and  started  at  a  hard 
pace  through  the  woods  on  the  far  side. 

Parker  stood  watching  her.  Despite  the  manner 
of  the  hillbilly's  departure,  he  felt  that  he  had  won. 

"I'm  some  slick  at  that!"  v/as  his  self-congratula- 
tion. 

Tiring  of  the  wait,  he  followed  the  girl  and 
noticed  a  high,  suspicious  look  to  the  back  of  her 
shoulders.  He  spoke  her  name;  then,  as  she  did  not 
turn,  caught  her  hand. 

She,  snatching  her  fingers  away  as  though  a  dog 
had  bitten  them,  faced  him.    The  strength  she  had 


SLICK  AT  THAT  205 

shown  before  Currie  was  gone.  Her  lips  were  quiv- 
ering, her  eyes  wet. 

"I  could  have  wheedled  him  In  time,"  she  accused 
in  a  broken  voice.  *'I  can  do  anything  with  Rex, 
and  I  hadn't  hardly  started  on  him.  Why  did  you 
go  and  spoil  my  last  chance  of  getting  dad  and 
Sandy  within  the  law?" 

He  met  her  attack  with  a  smile,  a  hopeful,  re- 
mindful smile. 

"I  did  it,"  said  he,  *'to  buy  the  judge." 

Something  In  the  look  of  him  changed  her  con- 
fusion into  hope. 

*'You  bought  it  from  Rex,"  she  asked  in  the  faint 
voice  of  one  afraid  to  believe,  **so  that  I — that 
we 

*'So  that  you  can  buy  it  from  me.  I  prefer  my- 
self to  Currle  as  your  landlord.  I  hope  that  you'll 
come  to  prefer  me,  too." 

"Will  you  clinch  what  you  say,  stranger?  Will 
you  take  this  down  on  the  bargain  and  give  me  one 
of  them — one  of  those  receipts?" 

Again  she  drew  out  the  greenback  which  Parker 
had  paid  her  only  a  few  minutes  before.  She  eyed 
him  as  intently  as  he  eyed  it;  a  return  of  sickening 
doubt  shov/ed  in  her  face  as  she  noted  his  dislike 
for  it.  For  what  seemed  a  long  time,  he  con- 
sidered. 

*'I  will  take  it  if  you'll  never  call  me  ^stranger' 
again,"  he  stipulated  at  last.  "I  won't  feel  at  home 
in  your  mountains  until  somebody  calls  me  'Cal.'  " 

*'It  seems  like  the  new  landlord  of  Grumbly  Bald 
ought  to  be  made  to  feel  at  home,  don't  it,  Cal?" 

He  marked  the  flush  which  accompanied  her  naYve 
acquiescence,  just  before  she  hurried  back  to  her 


2o6     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

jug-house.  To  its  former  resting-place  in  his  bill- 
fold he  returned  the  note  which  she  had  thrust  into 
his  hand;  wrote  a  second  receipt  on  a  check-back, 
followed  her,  gravely  handed  it  over. 

*'0h,  to  think — to  think  that  what  IVe  worked 
for  so  long  is  going  to  be !" 

The  last  of  an  ultra-sophisticated  race  felt  a  vica- 
rious thrill  from  her  joy  lilt. 

*'It's  a  little  out  of  my  past  line,  this  helping  in 
the  regeneration  of  two  thirst-quenchers — namely, 
your  brother  and  dad,"  he  made  comment.  **But 
one's  idea  of  what  is  and  what  isn't  a  worthy  cause 
may  change.  I'm  with  you  in  this.  To  it  I  pledge 
my  heart,  my  hand — my  mountain." 

He  noticed  that  she  had  unpinned  a  small  brooch 
from  her  dress,  a  purple  stone  framed  by  a  flat, 
gold  band;  that  the  red-bronze  head  drooped  with 
abashment  as  she  held  it  out  to  him  and  said: 

"Would  you-uns  be  too  proud  to  wear  this  in  your 
tie?  It  would  look  like  a  stickpin,  once  it's  in.  I — 
I'm  aiming  to  do  you  a  favor  when  I  ask." 

*'Proud?"  Parker  murmured.  "It  will  make  me 
almost  too  proud  to  wear  it." 

Himself  as  embarrassed  as  a  schoolboy  permit- 
ted to  wear  his  first  sweetheart's  "friendship"  ring, 
he  took  the  pin  and  examined  it. 

"My  pappy  had  it  set  over  at  the  county-seat  for 
my  last  birthday.  Amethysts  are  my  birth-stones, 
you  know.  What's  more,  they  used  to  be  considered 
a  remedy  for — for  your  kind  of  trouble." 

"That's  so.  I've  heard  it  or  read  about  it  some- 
where before,"  Parker  encouraged  her.  "The  noun 
amethyst  is  of  Greek  extraction,  made  up  of  words 
meaning  *not'   and  *to   intoxicate.'     The   ancien<ts 


SLICK  AT  THAT  207 

held  that  wine  drunk  from  an  amethystine  cup  could 
not  make  the  drinker  drunken." 

**I  wouldn't  trust  It  against  our  popskull/'  warned 
the  girl.  "But  I've  been  thinking  it  might  help  you. 
Leastwise,  it  can  do  no  harm  for  you  to  wear  my 
pm. 

*'You've  been  thinking  of  ways  to  help  me?" 

With  an  almost  reverent  touch,  Calvin  Parker 
pinned  the  country-craft  brooch  in  his  cravat. 

"I  want  you  to  go  now,"  she  was  saying  In  a 
more  apologetic  tone  than  he  as  yet  had  heard  from 
her.     "I — I'm  kind  of  scared  to  have  you  stayV 

"Scared,  Verne?" 

In  a  rush  of  words  she  sought  to  excuse  and  Im- 
press upon  him  her  nervousness.  "It's  smart-headed 
to  be  scared — sometimes.  You've  got  to  look  out 
for  Rex  Currie.  He  hates  you,  I  keep  telling  you. 
His  mind  Is  plumb  set  on  getting  me,  but  he's  wait-* 
Ing  for  something — I  don't  know  what.  If  I'm 
scared  of  his  love,  you-all  had  best  be  scared  of  his 
hate." 

"You're  not  very  complimentary  to  me,"  Parker 
objected.  "I  consider  myself  as  good  a  man  as 
Currie  any  day." 

For  just  a  minute  she  touched  the  hand  that  had 
seemed  so  repulsive  a  short  while  back.  "YouVe 
as  good,  yes.    But  not  as  bad." 

"x\s  good,  but  not  as  bad."  The  reminder  of 
the  mountain  girl's  words  some  thirty  minutes  later 
was  emphatic,  to  say  the  least. 

Parker  had  turned  from  the  main  road  Into  the 
narrow  trail  that  led  toward  his  cabin  on  the  rim. 
His  thoughts  on  the  symbolic  pin,  he  had  dropped 


2o8     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

the  rein  upon  which  his  one-eyed  mount  was  so  de- 
pendent and  lifted  his  hands  to  make  sure  it  was 
fastened  securely. 

"Weak  indeed  will  be  your  power,  little  talis- 
man," he  addressed  it  in  thought,  "if  again  I  fall!" 

An  explosion  as  of  a  small  cannon's  discharge 
almost  deafened  him.  Past  his  left  shoulder  zipped 
a  hall  of  shot.  Teetotaler  sprang  further  Into  the 
trallslde  underbrush,  toward  which  he  had  quar- 
tered from  mid-road. 

When  Parker  had  righted  the  terrorized  beast, 
he  found  himself  staring  Into  the  double  barrels  of 
a  shotgun,  evidently  the  source  of  the  cannonade. 
But  the  attack  was  not  repeated,  since  the  holder  of 
the  weapon,  much  In  evidence,  proved  to  be  inani- 
mate— the  hardwood  fork  of  a  hickory  that  marked 
a  trail  turn. 

"It's  hard  to  enjoy  nature,  ain't  it,  old  boss,  when 
^ven  the  trees  want  our  lives?"  Parker  deplored 
somewhat  grimly. 

Dismounting,  he  investigated  the  mantrap — shot- 
gun fixed  to  cover  trail,  hair  triggers,  improvised 
lanyard  of  cord  so  strung  that  advance  of  man  and 
beast  must  fire  the  double  charge.  Except  for  the 
lapse  of  discipline  which  had  allowed  Teetotaler  to 
sidle  from  the  road's  center,  Parker's  head  or  chest 
In  all  probability  would  have  received  the  hall  of 
slugs.  And  except  for  the  amethystine  brooch  that 
discipline  would  have  been  maintained. 

So,  Parker  commented  to  himself,  it  had  been 
this  rather  elaborate  conception,  rather  than  Verne's 
dismissal,  which  had  removed  the  hillbilly's  presence 
from  their  midst  1 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

PARTICEPS    CRIMINIS 

This  time  the  hounds  recognized  him.  Instead 
of  the  bristles  and  growls  with  which  they  had  tried 
to  discourage  his  previous  visit  to  the  Metcalf  home, 
they  greeted  him  with  yaps  and  whines  of  canine 
hospitality,  then  formed  themselves  Into  an  ad- 
vance guard  of  honor  up  the  avenue  of  oaks.  They 
and  the  heartsome  good-night  glance  of  the  sun 
strengthened  Parker's  hope  that  the  resentment  of 
her  who  had  forbidden  him  to  come  a  second  time 
might  be  diverted  by  the  urgent  nature  of  his  mis- 
sion. 

His  trip  that  day  to  Dismal  Gap  had  been  suc- 
cessful in  the  obtainment,  from  the  hamlet's  only 
member  of  the  bar,  tw^o  documents  which,  when 
signed  and  witnessed,  would  have  a  decidedly  legal 
look.  There  had  occurred  also  an  unsought  inter- 
view wath  that  fluttering  tidbit  of  humanity.  Aunt 
Hootie  Plott,  which  had  filled  him  with  apprehen- 
sion for  those  he  was  trying  to  befriend. 

It  was  after  she  had  secured  his  promise  to  be 
present  at  the  forthcoming  annual  carnival,  which 
the  drys  meant  should  be  a  consecration  service 
honoring  the  all-w^ise  vote  of  the  State,  that  she  had 
put  a  second  and  more  difficult  request.  Her  words 
hooted  in  his  mind: 

"You  must  make  a  friend  of  Rex  Currle.    I  hope 

200 


210     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

— I  think  he  will  soon  become  a  declared  convert  of 
the  drys.  To  be  sure,  he  has  been  bootlegging  for 
Old  Tom,  but  not  for  love  of  the  pernicious  calling 
Itself.  Although  he's  been  setting  up  to  Verney 
Metcalf  for  years,  he  admitted  to  me  the  other 
night  that  he  was  about  ready  to  give  up  all,  even 
her.  Verney's  a  likely  favored  girl,  as  I  told  him, 
but  no  female  is  worth  going  against  your  con- 
science for.  Rex  has  sold  out  his  property  and 
is  about  to  move  away.  But  before  he  goes — well, 
he  knows  the  exact  location  of  Old  Tom's  light- 
house, so  m.ake  friends  with  him  at  any  cost  to  your 
feelings.  Oh,  I  know  it  will  come  hard  for  you  to 
forgive  his  trying  to  bundle  you  out  of  Dismal  that 
first  day,  but  with  grace  you  can  do  it!" 

All  the  way  home  he  had  mulled  over  this  evi- 
dence that  the  safety  of  the  ''cantankerous"  was 
threatened  from  within  and  clear  had  become  his 
obligation  to  Inform  them.  Behind  the  Indolent 
manner  which  had  come  of  his  excesses  was  hidden 
— and  In  no  wise  Injured — the  dynamo  with  which  he 
had  been  equipped  at  birth.  The  mechanics  of  this, 
set  going,  had  started  him  at  once. 

The  main  door  of  the  Metcalf  house  stood  open. 
Smoke  spiraled  skyward  from  the  second  of  the 
stone  chimneys,  which  Parker  assumed  to  be  lo- 
cated In  the  culinary  regions.  Scarcely  had  he  lift- 
ed his  foot  to  the  first  step  when  Old  Tom  and 
Sandyred  appeared  In  the  doorway,  both  In  shirt- 
sleeves. During  the  brief  exchange  of  conventional 
greetings  a  large  question  mark  formed  around  the 
two. 

'*Mr.  Metcalf" — Parker  crossed  the  porch  and 
faced  them  squarely — "your  daughter  asked  me  not 


PARTICEPS  CRIMINIS  211 

to  repeat  my  call  of  the  other  day.  I  promised  her 
I  would  not  and  intended  to  oblige  her.  I  hope, 
however,  that  she  and  you  will  excuse  the  breach 
when  you  know  why  I  have  come." 

From  his  breast-pocket  he  produced  the  two  legal- 
looking  documents  procured  in  Dismal.  The  ap- 
pearance of  Vernaluska  In  the  lighted  doorway  that 
gave  from  one  side  of  the  living-room  had  caused 
him  to  make  his  words  deliberate,  distinct. 

She  looked  startled  and  very  lovely,  her  sleeves 
rolled  to  the  elbows,  the  flush  on  her  face  prob- 
ably from  the  kitchen  fire. 

He  returned  In  kind  the  grave  nod  she  gave  him 
through  the  shielding  shoulders  of  her  men-folk. 
He  could  not  decide  whether  she  was  frightened 
or  angry. 

*'While  in  Dismal  Gap  this  morning  I  had  the 
local  lawyer  draw  up  certain  papers  transferring 
the  mountain  known  as  Grumbly  Bald  from  Rex 
Currie  to  me  and  from  me  to  you.  Not  until  these 
are  signed  before  witnesses  will  the  transaction  be 
legally  binding." 

*'It  won't  eh?"  Tom's  gnarled  hands  outstretched, 
shook  as  they  seized  and  unfolded  the  blank  deeds. 

The  attention  of  the  three  was  diverted  from 
the  caller;  the  old  man's  to  a  mumbling  perusal, 
his  children's  to  an  anxious  regard  of  him. 

*'Once  I  could  get  right  and  title,"  he  muttered 
between  phrases.  "H-m,  that  sounds  business-like 
— *to  have  and  to  hold.'  ...  If  I  actually  owned 
the  Bald  I  needn't  never  fear  the  law  no  more — 
never  no  more.'* 

The  girl  and  Sandyred  glanced  at  each  other. 
Both  copper-colored  heads  wagged  w^ith  the  obser-. 


212     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

vatlon — unspoken — that  their  father  was  forgetting 
to  protect  the  liquid  flames  of  his  illicit  calling  in 
babble  over  the  imaginary  ones  that  seemed  to  be 
consuming  his  sanity. 

"There's  no  hindrance  now  to  your  owning  the 
mountain,  sir,  except  Currie's  signature  to  the  first 
of  those  papers — which  he  Is  under  contract  to  give 
me."  Parker's  interruption  was  in  as  brisk  a  tone 
as  he  could  command. 

"So  Verney's  done  told  us.  She  allows  you  ain't 
what  folks  think  you." 

"Nor  am  L    Is  he  around — Currie?" 

"Rex'U  be  nagging  In  presently — he  don't  ex- 
actly like  to  miss  a  meal."  Still  clutching  the  un- 
signed deeds,  the  old  fellow  peered  a  moment 
straight  Into  the  dark  eyes  of  the  younger  man. 
"Stranger,"  he  said,  after  an  Interval  that  was  tax- 
ing to  all  concerned,  "we-all  be  just  sitting  down  to 
table.     Likely  you'd  best  break  biscuits  with  us." 

"I  should  be  glad  to  do  so  for  several  reasons," 
Parker  accepted,  "one,  that  It  will  give  me  oppor- 
tunity to  share  some  Information  with  you  which  I 
think  you  will  consider  Important." 

"Nowise  as  Important  as  getting  these  here  pa- 
pers  signed.      Biscuits   first,   then   Rex,   then  your  | 
information — that's  my  program." 

"Whenever  you're  ready  to  listen,  sir.'* 

At  the  amicable  trend  of  affairs,  the  girl  rer 
tumed  through  the  lighted  doorway.  Her  brother, 
with  a  non-committal  nod,  followed  her.  Parker 
was  about  to  step  for  the  first  time  over  the  Metcalf 
door-sill,  when  the  patriarch  stopped  him. 

"Best  outen  your  coat;  you  might  as  well  be  com- 
fortable." 


PARTICEPS  CRIMINIS  213 

Instantly  the  scion  of  born-and-bred  Parkers 
was  about  to  refuse  the  suggestion,  when  he  inter- 
cepted a  glance  toward  his  hip.  Of  course,  he 
advised  himself,  the  removal  of  his  coat  would  show 
whether  or  not  he  had  anything  "on  him"  to  hang 
upon  one  of  those  neutrality  nails  that  decorated  the 
door-frame.  Amused  by  the  old  fellow's  protector- 
ate over  his  hospitality,  he  slipped  the  much  criti- 
cized Norfolk  off  his  silk  shirt  and  hung  it  upon 
the  nail  which  he  might  have  appropriated  had  he 
been  "wearing"  a  gun. 

In  the  dining-room  a  table  was  placed  so  near 
the  wall  that  a  bench  served  for  all  except  Tom, 
who  had  a  chair  at  one  end,  and  Vernaluska,  who 
"fetched  and  carried."  Opposite,  a  cheerful  fire 
crackled  in  the  grate. 

Here  Parker  was  presented  to  Miss  Emmy,  whose 
buxom  figure  and  pink-cheeked  face  Impressed  him 
as  in  grateful  contrast  to  the  pallor  and  gangliness 
of  such  middle-aged  women  as  he  had  met  in  the 
"sticks." 

They  settled  in  place,  with  the  exception  of  Ver- 
naluska, who  could  be  heard  in  the  kitchen.  When 
she  reappeared  her  sleeves  were  rolled  down.  She 
placed  a  spitted  roast  before  the  head  of  the  clan. 
While  he  carved  with  able  strokes,  she  added  a  dish 
of  beans  boiled  In  their  pods,  which  they  called 
"leather  breeches,"  a  pyramid  of  meal  bread  grit- 
ted and  dried  Into  pones,  and  some  crisp  slices  of 
bacon.  A  plate  of  fresh-churned  butter  and  Indi- 
vidual dishes  of  berries,  which  Miss  Emmy  deplored 
as  being  home-canned  with  "drug-store  powders," 
because  of  the  late  sugar  shortage,  completed  the 
menu,  except  for  coffee. 


214     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

The  beef  conquered  In  combat,  old  Tom  helped 
himself,  then  pushed  the  platter  toward  Parker, 
next  In  line. 

"Light  Into  things,"  he  advised.  *'HIm  with  the 
longest  reach  Is  always  the  best  fed." 

*'Tom,"  Vernaluska  broached  when  the  meal  was 
under  way,  *'Sandy  and  I  are  agreed  that  It's  right 
pretty  of  Mr.  Parker  to  buy  the  title  to  Crumbly 
Bald  from  Rex,  just  to  sell  It  over  to  us-all.  Ain't 
we,  Sandy?" 

"We  sure  are."  The  younger  Metcalf  nodded, 
although  there  was  qualification  In  his  grudging 
tone.  "What  I  can't  see  Is  why  he's  done  gone  and 
done  It." 

No  opportunity  was  allowed  Parker  to  explain. 

"He  had  two  reasons,  as  I  see  It,"  the  girl  con- 
tinued In  the  manner  of  one  making  a  foreplanned 
speech.  "One  w^as  to  give  us  practical  proof  that 
he  ain't — isn^t  the  revenuer  he's  considered  here- 
abouts.   The  other "     She  paused,  drew  a  deep 

breath,  then  plunged.  "Mr.  Parker  and  I  are  good 
enough  friends  that  I  told  him  you  had  promised 
to  quit  stilling  once  you  owned  the  Bald.  Tommie, 
are  you  going  to  quit?  Are  you  meaning  to  keep 
that  promise?" 

Emphatically  the  leonine  head  nodded. 

"Once  I  get  this  signing  done  good  and  proper, 
once  I  have  the  cash  In  hand  for  what's  stilling  now, 
I'll  never  make  no  more.  You  know,  Verney,  that 
my  word's  bed-rock." 

"Oh,  Tommie — oh,  Tom!"  There  was  a  clutch 
In  her  voice,  but  her  eyes  gleamed  In  the  lamp-light 
like  topaz.  "How  long  will  It  take  with  all  of  us 
working?" 


PARTICEPS  CRIMINIS  215 

Her  question  brought  Parker  an  Idea — one  that 
appealed  at  the  moment  as  the  superlative  idea  of 
his  life. 

^'Wouldn't  an  extra  hand  facilitate  things?"  he 
asked  generally,  then  faced  the  old  man  in  par- 
ticular. "Mr.  Metcalf,  what  would  you  think  of 
hiring  me?" 

"You?"  Sandy  snorted. 

"Hiring  yoiif  Tom  echoed  his  2iVCL2iiLt. 

The  question  was  italicized  in  the  look  of  the 
girl,  which  shifted  to  meet  his. 

"Yes.  Why  not?"  Parker  answered  all  of  them. 
His  hand  lifted  to  the  little  brooch  of  amethyst 
which  was  fastened  In  his  tie  and  remained  there 
as  he  continued:  "Oh,  you  mustn't  think  I  want  to 
get  my  hands  on  the  stuff;  drinking  Pve  given  up, 
once  and  for  all.  For  me  to  help  you  with  your 
last  output  would  serve  three  purposes.  It  would 
train  me  Into  the  habit  of  resistance  and  give 
me  the  best  possible  start.  It  would  show 
you  absolutely  that  I  am  not  a  revenuer,  and 
that " 

"Might  show  that  you  are,"  Sandy  interrupted. 

"It  couldn't  do  that,  because  I'm  not.  Anyhow, 
you  can  see  at  a  glance  that  if  you  employ  me  to 
help  get  out  this  last  batch  of  bumbllngs " 

"Best  wag  your  tongue  tothcr  way!"  Again  the 
son  attempted  his  rather  futile  denial.  "We  don^t 
get  out  nothing  up  here  that  we're  scared  of,  I  tell 
you." 

"You  would  make  me,"  Parker  continued,  re- 
gardless, ^^particeps  criminis — an  accessory  to  the 
fact.  Don't  bother  contradicting  me,  Sandy,  for 
everybody  knows.     If  you  people  would  take  me  in, 


2i6     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

the  same  jail  sentence  would  await  me  as  the  rest 
of  you  In  case  of  trouble." 

*'Heirs  banjerl"  Tom  was  staring  fixedly  at  his 
emptied  plate. 

Miss  Emmy's  pink  cheeks  were  cupped  in  her 
hands  as  she  watched  for  signs  in  the  faces  of  her 
own.  Vernaluska  had  crossed  to  the  fire,  a  glow, 
as  from  its  heart  of  coals,  in  her  face.  Noisily, 
Sandy  began  to  pile  the  dishes  he  had  used. 

"Why  do  you  make  such  a  soon  stack,  boy?"  the 
older  blockader  objected. 

*T'm  nagging  it  down  to  the  Gap.  Want  to 
wrastle  with  the  carnival  committee  about  getting 
a  good  place  for  my  refreshment  tent." 

"First,  leave  us  argue  out  this  particeps  business. 
Like  Verney's  done  said,  we're  obliged  to  trust 
somebody,  and  her  selection  might  be  just  as  good 


as  ourn." 


"That's  sensible,"  Parker  urged.  "There's  noth- 
ing gained  by  denying  facts  which  I  know  as  well 
as  you.  The  Federal  law  says,  Mr.  Metcalf,  that 
you  cannot  distil  liquor  without  paying  certain  rev- 
enue taxes.  The  new  State  law  forbids  you  making 
it  or  selling  it.  You,  believing  these  laws  unjust, 
proceed  to  violate  them,  matching  your  cunning  with 
that  of  the  authorities.  So  far  you  have  succeeded, 
but  if  you  delay  too  long,  you  are  due  for  a  stumble. 
The  law's  penalty  wouldn't  hurt  you  men  so  much 
as  these  women  of  your  family  whom  you  undoubt- 
edly love  and  should  save  from  disgrace.  It  was 
in  the  hope  of  relieving  the  strain  upon  Miss  Ver- 
naluska at  once  that  I  bought  that  mountain.  Ac- 
cording to  her,  it  will  give  you  a  chance  at  another 
sort  of  living — a  safer  one — and  you  have  prom- 


PARTICEPS  CRIMINIS  217 

ised  to  take  it.  Why  refuse  an  offer  of  help  that 
may  hurry  things?'* 

Old  Tom  had  straightened  from  his  lounging  po- 
sition. He  was  leaning  over,  peering  at  the  unex- 
pected supper  guest  as  if  dumbfounded  by  his  temer- 
ity. 

A  laugh  from  the  youngest  Metcalf  proclaimed 
him  proof  against  such  appeal. 

*'Slick  as  they  come  !'*  he  pointed  the  counter  ar- 
gument. "Revenuer  or  no,  Parker,  you've  got  a 
prancy  chance  to  catch  us-all  thataway.  We're 
within  every  law  that  we  cotton  to  and  our  women 
folk  don't  look  as  if  they  were  suffering  none." 

But  Parker  persisted: 

"I  carry  no  preachment  for  reform,  any  more 
than  I  am  personally  interested  in  the  collection  of 
revenue.  I  do  not  assail  the  traffic  because  I  am  no 
longer  a  customer.  My  only  interest  is  to  see  you 
folks  out  of  it  before  things  happen  which  I  know 
are  going  to  happen." 

"You  know,  eh?"  jeered  Sandy.  "And  how  do 
you  know?" 

"That  is  partly  what  I  came  to-night  to  tell  you. 
You  are  in  imminent  danger  from  a  source " 

"We  Metcalfs  are  bred  to  danger,  so  best  have 
done  with  this  child's-talk!"  The  old  man  broke  in 
impatiently.  "Allowing  you-all  are  playing  square, 
Parker-man,  we're  obliged  to  you  and  beholden 
for  the  advance  on  the  Bald.  But  we  won't  owe 
It  for  long.  I  got  a  hundred  dollars  ready,  besides 
Verney's  ten,  and  I  calculate  on  adding  a  consider- 
able sum  after — leastwise,  right  soon.  Once  I  get 
Grumbly  Bald  bought  and  paid  for " 

He   clutched  the   cloth   and  peered  around  the 


2i8     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

group,  a  doting  smile  softening  his  rugged  face. 
His  voice  thrilled  with  the  tenderness  of  a  young 
man  for  his  love  as  he  lapsed  into  what  seemed 
his  one  aberration. 

*'Blue  flames  Is  what  we-all  are  going  to  live  and 
wax  fat  on,  not  goats,  not  wheat,  not  corn;  blue 
flames  that  are  burning  the  heart  of  the  Bald. 
I  ain't  been  chasing  'em  my  lifetime  for  naught. 
Come  a  day,  and  they'll  blaze  up  at  my  feet.  Come 
a  day,  I'm  telling  you-all,  and  folks  will  know  why 
Tom  Metcalf  has  done  stuck  around  Roaring 
Fork.  So  long  I've  hunted  and  hoped — so  tarnal 
long  I" 

The  finish  of  his  intense  digression  was  stifled 
in  a  groan.  His  face  fell  into  his  hands.  Through 
his  whole  powerful  body  he  shuddered,  as  from  re- 
pressed desire. 

Miss  Emmy  dabbed  at  a  tear  that  had  started, 
staggering,  down  her  cheek.  Sandyred  shifted  po- 
sition, his  young  face  glooming.  The  girl  Ver- 
naluska  it  was  who  broke  the  uncomfortable  pause. 

"You  can't  blame  us-all  for  wondering  why  you'd 
ask  Tom  for  a  job  of  helping."  For  the  first  time 
during  the  meal,  she  turned  directly  to  the  outsider. 
"Why  should  a  man  with  the  money  you  claim  to 
have  hire  out  to  us?  You  allowed  a  while  back 
you  had  three  reasons,  and  you've  named  us  two.'* 

"My  third  reason,  or,  rather,  the  third  purpose 
you'd  serve  by  taking  me  on,"  Parker  stated,  "is 
what  I'm  trying  to  tell  you — the  chief  cause  of  my 
presence  here  this  evening." 

All  eyes,  even  those  of  the  patriarch,  focused 
upon  him,  compelled  by  his  gravity.  The  yapping 
of  the  hounds  without  and  the  loudening,  then  dim- 


PARTICEPS  CRIMINIS  219 

Inlshing  pound  of  horses*  hoofs  further  urged  him. 

**By  hiring  me,  Metcalf,  you  would  be  able  to 
dispense  with  the  services  of  Rex  Currie  who,  I 
have  excellent  reason  to  believe,  is  no  friend  of 
you  or  yours.  To-day  in  Dismal  Gap,  I  was  au- 
thoritatively informed  that  he  was  ingratiating  him- 
self with  the  drys.  He  wants  to  clear  himself  of 
the  charge  of  bootlegging  for  you  and  has  planned 
his  getaway.  Just  what  he  is  lingering  for,  I  don't 
know;  but  I  expect  trouble  from  him  and  so  may 
you." 

A  scornful  laugh  from  the  doorway  sounded  start- 
lingly. 

Rex  Currie  stood  just  outside,  the  look  of  him 
suggesting  that  he  had  slipped  through  the  living- 
room  in  time  to  overhear  the  denunciation  of  him- 
self. 

"So-ho,  you  expect  trouble  from  me?"  he  de- 
manded of  Parker.  "Well,  for  once  you're  right, 
you  revenue  sneak!  Looks  like  I've  come  in  good 
time  to  start  it  here  and  now." 

With  every  appearance  of  preparedness,  he  strode 
into  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

GUN-GETTING 

From  a  stand  before  the  fireplace,  Currie  ad- 
dressed the  group  collectively  and  individually. 

*'You-all  are  fools — dumb  fools — to  sit  here  look- 
ing like  charmed  snakes  at  this  government  hawk. 
Sandy  Is  too  flighty  to  expect  much  of,  and  you, 
Tom,  you  act  lately  as  if  you'd  Inherited  his  wob- 
bllness  of  mind.  Miss  Emmy,  I'd  have  hoped  bet- 
ter sense  from  you  than  breaking  bread  with  one 
who  has  only  the  family  ruin  In  mind.  As  for  you, 
Verney " 

His  voice  bespoke  a  vital  hurt  as  he  turned  upon 
the  girl. 

Parker  slid  out  from  between  table  and  bench, 
crossed  the  room.  His  one  chief  realization  was 
that  he  hated  the  hillbilly,  had  hated  him  from  their 
first  meeting,  as  never  In  his  past  had  he  hated 
any  one.  He  was  very  angry,  he  warned  himself; 
he  must  be  careful.  m 

"Odd,  Isn't  It,  Currie,  that  you  are  calling  me 
the  same  names  I  was  just  calling  you?"  he  com- 
mented, meeting  the  other's  scowl  with  a  sugges- 
tion of  his  lop-sided  smile.  ^^You  have  the  ruin  of 
this  family  In  mind — that's  what  I  was  telling  them. 
I  have  collected  a  few  facts  to  support  the  charge. 
You  can  have  nothing  but  unfounded  suspicion  to 
show  against  me." 

220 


GUN-GETTING  221 

A  sneer  first  answered  him.  Then:  "Good-la, 
you  dare  me  open?  I  take  that  dare.  What,  Mr. 
Family-Friend,  have  you-uns  got  to  say  about  this?" 

From  the  inner  pocket  of  his  coat,  Currie  took 
out  a  letter,  stepped  toward  the  lamp,  leaned  to 
read  the  superscription. 

"This  billy-doo  came  in  on  to-day's  stage  and 
looked  important  enough  that  Asa  Simms  allowed 
Fd  best  fetch  it  special.  Finding  the  party  it's 
addressed  to  here  saves  me  a  ride  after  supper  that 
like  as  not  I  wouldn't  have  got  a  thank-you  for. 
Listen,  you  Metcalf  simps,  to  the  reading  on  the 
envelope:  'Mr.  Calvin  A.  Parker,  care  Mrs.  Hootie 
Plott,  Dismal  Gap,  N.  C  " 

Parker  stepped  forward,  his  hand  outstretched. 
"If  the  letter  is  mine,  give  it  to  me.  I  never  heard 
of  such  impertinence  as  examining  a  man's  mail  with 
him  standing  right  in  the  room !" 

"You  didn't?  Well,  it's  small  fry  compared  with 
your  impertinence  being  In  the  room.  I'll  hand  over 
your  mail  when  I'm  through  with  the  outside  of  it. 
That'll  be  enough  to  show  the  Metcalfs — you're 
welcome  to  what's  inside.  Look,  you-all,  at  what 
is  on  the  upper  left-hand  corner — printed  there." 

He  showed  them : 

If  not  delivered  in  five  days 

Return  to 

Deputy  Collector, 

UNITED  STATES  INTERNAL  REVENUE, 

Federal  Building,  New  York  City. 

His  confidence  rose  as  he  noted  the  reflex  on  the 
staring  group.  "But  that's  not  all.  On  the  other 
corner — see !" 


222     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

The  Metcalfs  peered  to  read: 

For  Official  Business  Only 
Penalty  for  Private  Use 

In  Evading  Postage 
Three  Hundred  Dollars. 

Currle  laughed  again.  *'It  ain't  likely — not  with 
that  line — that  anybody  would  send  our  family 
friend  a  society  note  inside  this  envelope.  Now,  are 
you-all  ready  to  see  the  slick  for  what  he  is?" 

Old  Tom,  whose  sight  was  none  too  keen,  reached 
out  for  the  missive  and  re-read  the  printed  matter 
on  the  face  of  It,  holding  it  close  under  the  lamp. 

A  moment  later  the  out-Norther  found  five  hos- 
tile faces  turned  his  way  Instead  of  one. 

*'The  letter  Is  easily  explained,"  he  declared.  *'It 
is  undoubtedly  from  the  man  who  sent  me  to  the 
Blue  Ridge."  4 

*'You  don't  deny,  then,  that  you  were  sent?"  Cur- 
rle demanded. 

"At  Magpie  Plott's  request?"  added  Sandyred. 

Old  Tom  worded  his  glare.     "Do  you  'spect  we- 
all  didn't  know  that  the  drys  had  begged  for  a  slick' 
to  come  down  and  clean  us  out?" 

Still  Vernaluska  did  not  speak. 

But  Parker  knew  that  she  was  remembering. 
Acute  to  what  must  be  flashing  through  her  mind 
as  treachery  In  him,  he  reached  out  and  seized  the 
envelope. 

"This  letter,  I  know  before  opening.  Is  of  a  strict- 
ly personal  nature.  That  Is  foretold  by  the  postage 
being  paid  on  It.  Don't  you  see  the  canceled  stamp? 
It  Is  from  a  friend  of  mine  who  works  for  the  In- 
ternal Revenue  Service,  Spencer  Pope,  by  name.'* 


GUN-GETTING  223 

''Spencer  Pope!"  With  a  subdued  bellow  Old 
Tom  pounced  upon  the  name.  "And  you  admit  he 
sent  you  to  the  sticks?" 

"Why  shouldn't  I  admit  it?  He  is,  however,  only 
a  personal  friend.  That  I  can  demonstrate  best  by 
reading  his  letter  aloud.  I  won't  even  glance  it 
through  first,  which  ought  to  show  that  I  have  no 
fear  of  its  contents." 

He  promised  the  girl  with  a  glance,  then  ripped 
open  the  envelope  and  unfolded  the  sheets  within. 

'Tt  is  from  Spence,  as  I  knew  it  would  be.  Lis- 
ten: 

Dear  Cal: 

We're  leaving  to-night  for  Ashville — Mrs.  Brainard,  Syl- 
via, and  myself.  It's  out  of  season,  of  course;  but  Airs.  B. 
Is  interested  in  a  place  for  sale  near  there,  and  insists  on  my 
advice  as  an  original  Tar-heel.  So  we'll  all  drop  in  to  see 
you.  It  seems  a  way  of  killing  several  birds  with  the  rock 
of  one  railroad  fare.  We're  naturally  interested  in  how 
many  birds  you've  killed  while  there.  Why  your  super- 
caution  in  not  reporting  through  the  mails?  Are  you  over- 
coming the  devils? 

I  hear  they're  pulling  ofF  the  annual  carnival  on  Friday 
next.  So  we'll  take  the  stage  over  from  the  railroad  that 
day,  arriving,  I  believe,  about  noon.  Sylvia  says  that  in  case 
you  are  trying  to  hide  your  real  identity,  as  well  as  j^our  mis- 
sion in  the  Blue  Ridge,  under  the  disguise  of  a  beard,  you'd 
better  shave  for  the  occasion. 

Hoping  for  a  great  report, 

Spencer. 

Although  the  news  in  this  characteristic  effusion 
was  a  surprise  to  Parker  and  the  way  it  was 
put  most  unfortunate,  he  now  looked  up  with  what 
confidence  he  could  muster. 


224     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

^'There's  nothing  official  in  that  letter,  as  I  pre- 
dicted. Here,  pass  it  around  and  see  for  your- 
selves/* 

An  angry  laugh  sounded  from  the  living-room 
door,  where  Sandy  had  planted  himself.  "We-all 
don't  need  to  pass  it.  We  see  a-plenty.  Rex,  you 
line  up  again'  the  kitchen  door — lucky  you're  wear- 
ing your  gun.  I  got  one  on  the  stoop,  stranger,  so 
don't  try  to  escape  that  way!" 

'TU  not  try  to  escape,"  Parker  retorted.  "All  I 
want  to  do  is  to  explain;  let  me  convince  you  that 
I " 

''You've  done  convinced  us  a-plenty."  Old  Tom 
put  the  verdict,  but  without  the  hostility  of  his  son. 

He  sidled  toward  the  seat  he  had  vacated  at  table 
and  laid  his  huge  hands  upon  the  blank  deeds  left 
there. 

'Tm  going  to  give  you  a  chance,  Parker,  to  make 
your  getaway,"  he  continued.  *'ril  call  these  boys 
offen  you  and  see  that  a  nary  shot  stops  you  on 

the  road  if "     He  hesitated;  shifted  his  gaze; 

seemed  to  be  thinking  earnestly. 

Parker  understood.  He  returned  a  significant, 
warning  look. 

"I'm  obliged  for  the  reminder."  He  nodded  to' 
Metcalf;  then  turned  to  the  hillbilly.  "The  object 
of  my  present  visit,  Currie,  Is  to  get  your  signature 
to  the  deed  transferring  that  mountain  farm  from 
you  to  me.     You  have  cashed  the  New  York  draft?" 

"I  sure  have — trusting  you  none!" 

"Nor  I  you,  so  you're  to  sign  up  to-night." 

"Ain't  objecting,  am  I?" 

"If  you'll  provide  pen  and  Ink,  Mr.  Metcalf," 
Parker  suggested,  "we'll  legalize  the  transfer." 


^ 


GUN-GETTING  225 

With  a  doubtful  sort  of  glare,  Currle  turned  on 
the  old  man.  "Vv^hat  affair  is  it  of  yours,  Tom,  if 
I  decide  to  sell  what  my  pappy  left  me  free  and 
clear?     Let  me  see  this  deed." 

As  her  father's  nervousness  increased,  Vema- 
luska  intervened.  Coming  up  behind  him  she  took 
one  of  the  documents  and  passed  it  to  Currie. 

*'Best  trust  the  stranger,  Tommie,"  she  advised. 
"It's  all  there  is  left  to  do." 

He  acted  on  her  advice.  "Pen  and  ink,  Emmy," 
he  ordered.  "You,  Sandy,  hike  to  the  barn  and 
fetch  Cotton  Eye — we'd  best  have  his  signature  for 
an  outside  witness." 

The  girl  urged  her  brother  on  his  errand.  "Go 
on,  Sandy,  while  Rex  is  in  the  mind.     Go  on." 

"  'Pears  to  me  you've  changed  your  tune,  Ver- 
ney,  since  the  other  day,"  Currie  made  comment 
on  her  eagerness.  "What's  come  over  you  that 
you  want  me  now  to  sell  the  Bald  to  some  one 
else?" 

"Oh,  it's  because "    She  shivered,  then  lifted 

a  warming  smile  to  him.  "You  know  I  hate  to  say 
I'm  wrong,  Rexey.  But  I  see  It  from  your  view-point 
now.  Likely  the  money,  cash  In  hand,  is  worth  more 
to  you  than  the  mountain." 

He  corrected  In  a  fervent  aside:  "To  me  and  to 
you,  hon." 

Despite  her  effort  at  duplicity,  she  showed  even 
more  nervousness  than  did  the  patriarch  during  the 
examination  of  the  paper  which  ensued.  Currie 
read  It  as  though  looking  for  "jokers."  Cotton  Eye 
blinked  at  It  like  an  ebony  owl,  regardless  of  the  fact 
that  he  held  it  upside  down.  But  at  last  came  the 
signatures,    the   negro's    In   the    form    of    an   "X" 


226     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

marked  after  the  "Cotton  Eye  Lee''  which  Verna- 
luska  had  written  in  for  him. 

Parker  blotted  the  ink  with  the  lamp's  heat,  and 
pocketed  the  document.  4 

"Now,"  he  said,  "we  can  get  to  the  signing  of 
the  second  deed."  fl 

"The  second  deed?"  Currie  demanded.  ^ 

"Yes.  I  had  it  drawn  up  at  the  same  time,  but 
it  wasn't  worth  much  until  after  you  had  honored 
the  first." 

He  and  Old  Tom  duly  inscribed  their  names;  Cot- 
ton Eye  affixed  another  X  in  the  witness  line.  Ad- 
ditionally, there  were  notes  signed  and  their  accom- 
panying mortgage,  then  a  receipt  was  given  by  the 
out-Norther  for  the  hoarded  hundred.  Only  when 
Rex  Currie  saw  the  bills  handed  over  did  he  seem 
to  grasp  the  significance  of  the  transaction. 

"So-ho,  you've  tricked  me — the  whole  passel  of 
you?"  he  asked  In  the  quiet  voice  of  fury  just  be- 
fore it  explodes.  "You've  gone  and  got  hold  of 
that  mountain  in  spite  of  me,  Tom  Metcalf !  You 
really  mean,  then,  to  quit  stillin' — to  settle  down 
Inside  the  law?  As  for  you,  you  Interfering  revenue 
reptile " 

He  turned  on  Parker. 

"As  for  him" — Old  Tom  had  folded  his  deed 
and  placed  It  within  the  pocket  of  his  shirt — "rev- 
enuer  or  no,  he's  kept  his  part  of  the  bargain,  and 
ril  keep  mine."  He  also  turned  to  Parker.  "You 
can  go  safe  of  lead,  young  feller.  If  you  take  the 
straight  road  home. 

But  Parker's  attention  was  centered  upon  her 
with  whom  he  had  exchanged  vows  of  mutual  aid 
and  trust.     Her  expression  was  hard  to  read,  prob- 


GUN-GETTING  227 

ably  through  remembering  what  had  been  and  what 
was.  There  was  no  doubting  the  cut  of  her  voice, 
however,  when  she  answered  his  eyes. 

*'We-all  are  powerful  obliged  to  you  for  turning 
over  the  Bald  to  us.  We'll  make  the  payments  and 
interest  regular.  But  after  that  letter  to-night,  you 
can't  expect  us  to  be  friendly.  It  ain't — isn't  man- 
ners, Is  it,  for  a  gent  to  stay  after  he's  been  asked 
to  go?" 

For  a  moment  longer  Parker  looked  at  her,  more 
hurt  than  seemed  reasonable.  In  view  of  the  fact 
that  he  could  not  blame  her.  When  he  spoke  it 
was  to  the  old  man. 

*^^lthough  I've  always  been  dead  set  against 
doing  things  just  because  people  told  me  to,  in  this 
case,  I'll  go  and  go  straight  if  you'll  entrust  me 
with  Currie's  gun — I'm  not  afraid  of  yours  and  your 
son's." 

The  hillbilly  started  toward  him. 

"A  gad-a-mighty  chance  you've  got  to  strip  me  of 
my  gun — you  nor  all  the  tricky  Old  Toms  in  the 
sticks !     I'll  show  you  what  that  insult  calls  for." 

"Up,  Rexey — I  got  you  covered!"  With  the 
flash  of  a  small  weapon  which  she  had  slipped  from 
her  waist,  Vernaluska  stopped  Currie's  hand  half- 
way to  his  hip.  "You  leave  dad  lift  your  gun.  If 
you  make  one  false  move  I'll  plug  you." 

For  a  moment  he  stopped  to  gape  at  her.  None 
could  have  doubted  she  would  make  good  her  threat. 
But  admiration  for  her  and  craving  for  her  seemed 
only  to  infuriate  him  the  more. 

"You'd  plug  me  just  to  save  him?  I  believe  you 
would.    Lucky  I  don't  need  a  gun." 

He  turned  so  that  Old  Tom  could  take  the  Colt 


228     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

from  his  hip;  then,  before  any  of  them  realized  his 
intention,  sprang  upon  Parker  and  bore  him  to  the 
wall. 

*'You'll  pay  me — for  everything — ^you've  done-— 
and  made  them  do,"  he  panted  as  he  withstood  the 
shock  of  violent  resistance.  "I'll  get  the  girl  in  spite 
of  you — in  spite  of  Old  Tom  and  all  the  other — 
flames  of  hell.     My  game's  been  quiet  long  enough." 

*'You  mean — your  man-trap — noisy  enough," 
countered  Parker,  with  the  gasps  of  one  who  has 
just  wrenched  a  strangle  clutch  from  his  throat. 

*'Now  I'm  ready  to  fight — to  win,^^  the  hillbilly 
contributed  to  the  rough-and-tumble.  "If  there's 
anything  left  of  you — after  I " 

But  there  was  considerable  left.  Parker  was 
proving  himself  wilhng  and  adept  at  in-fighting, 
with  rapid-fire  hooks  and  jabs  which  left  his  oppo- 
nent little  time  for  comment,  when  Sandyred  threw 
his  decisive  muscular  vote  into  the  issue.  Soon 
Currie  was  backed  into  a  corner  and  held  there  under 
competent  guard  of  the  younger  Metcalf  pair. 

After  Parker  had  readjusted  a  loosened  cuff-link 
and  set  his  belt,  he  reached  out  for  the  gun  which 
he  had  stipulated  must  be  entrusted  temporarily  to 
him. 

The  deprived  owner  again  offered  objection. 
"Don't  you  go  that  far  with  your  insults,  Tom!" 

When  the  old  man  had  gone  the  whole  way,  he 
threatened  Parker  directly:  "Gun  or  no  gun,  slick, 
you  have  a  care  for  the  next  time  we  meet  !'* 

With  the  commandeered  weapon  in  hand,  the 
out-Norther  paused  at  the  door.  "The  reason  I 
wanted  this  gun,  good  folks,"  he  said,  "was  merely 
to  show  you  that  I'm  not  leaving  thus  early  be" 


GUN-GETTING  229 

cause  I  came  unarmed.  Good  night,  all.  Friday, 
at  the  carnival,  I'll  have  Spencer  Pope  explain  a 
little  better  than  I've  been  able  to  do  just  who  I  am 
and  why  I'm  in  the  Blue  Ridge.  Thank  you  so 
much  for  a  diverting  evening." 

Turning,  he  walked  into  and  across  the  living- 
room.  At  the  door  which  gave  upon  the  gallery  he 
paused  to  don  his  coat.  In  the  brief  wait  he  heard 
the  start  of  Old  Tom's  next  attack. 

"This  here's  sure  a  diverting — a  great  evening. 
Rex  Currie,  for  its  the  one  you  pack  up  your  fiddle 
and  duds." 

"Me  pack  up,  Tom?" 

"You  heard  me.  High  time  you  left  off  pre- 
tending to  be  one  of  us !  I  know  dum  well  why 
you've  stuck  around,  even  though  you  don't  know 
why  I  let  you — you  that's  lifted  your  reviling  eyes  to 
my  gal." 

"Man  alive,  my  eyes  ain't  ever  been  reviling  1 
I'm  wanting  to  marry  Verney.  I've  asked  her  time 
and  again." 

"Natu'ly  you  want  to  marry  her.  Who 
wouldn't?  But  it's  only  a  man  that  sizes  up  right 
before  me  that's  a-going  to  succeed.  You — a  mur- 
dering Currie?  I  never  did  have  no  use  for  you, 
nohow^  nor  your  pappy  before  you,  with  his  con- 
cealing ways.  The  only  thing  I  ever  wanted  of 
the  span  of  you,  I've  got  to-night.  Fve  got  Grum- 
hly  Bald!  I'm  going  to  be  able  to  give  Verney  the 
chance  she  deserves  in  life  and  Sandy  an  educa- 
tion— if  he'll  take  to  It — and  Emmy  some  old-age 
ease.  As  for  you,  I  give  you  the  go-by.  An  hour's 
good  allowance  for  Parker — then  you  git  and  stay 
git  I' 


I" 


230     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

Cal  Parker  did  not  linger.  What  he  had  over- 
heard, however,  awoke  in  him  the  generosity  of 
the  victor.  Before  crossing  the  porch,  he  hung  the 
weapon  he  had  demanded  upon  the  nail  in  the  door- 
frame from  which  he  had  taken  his  coat.  In  the 
cabin  on  Fallaway  awaited  his  own,  which  would 
best  be  his  companion  for  the  near  future. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

CONQUEROR   OF   HIMSELF 

By  Friday,  the  first  morning  of  the  two-day  car- 
nival which  every  year  takes  place  between  plant- 
ing and  harvest  in  this  section  of  the  Blue  Ridge, 
Calvin  Parker  found  himself  in  a  stressful  state  of 
mind.  AYhen,  about  nine-thirty,  he  halted  Teeto- 
taler at  Crossways,  a  point  commanding  the  road 
to  the  Metcalf  place,  he  realized  the  full  discom- 
fort of  hope  and  fear. 

And  this  was  the  day  when  he  was  to  be  pre- 
sented to  Sylvia,  his  promised  w^ife,  as  the  con- 
queror of  himself ! 

The  ironical  smile  with  which  he  saluted  the 
thought  lost  its  irony  in  wistfulness  as  he  realized 
why  he  could  not  rejoice.  Yet  it  was  well  that 
he  should  see  Sylvia  and  try  to  explain ;  doubly  well 
that  he  should  see  Spencer,  since  only  Spencer  could 
win  for  him  reprieve  from  the  self-elected  family 
jury  which  had  sentenced  him  to  the  misery  of  the 
past  several  days. 

Parker  was  waiting  at  Crossways  because  his 
whole  future  happiness  seemed  to  depend  upon  win- 
ning back  Verne's  faith  In  him  before  he  advanced 
proof  of  his  good  faith  toward  her.  Yesterday 
he  had  sent  her  a  note — but  that  was  as  a  climax 
to  much  which  had  preceded  and  necessitated  it. 

231 


232     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

After  that  evening  when  he  had  broken  bis- 
cuits in  vain  with  the  Metcalfs,  the  truth  had  come 
of  its  own  dynamic  force.  It  had  struck  off  all  the 
armor  of  the  Parker  class  distinction  and  left  the 
last  of  that  line  unprotected  from  a  man-power 
craving  to  which  his  past  craving  for  liquor  was 
but  a  puerile  fancy. 

Sylvia  I  Who,  indeed,  was  Sylvia — what  his  feel- 
ing for  her?  Although  he  had  thought  he  truly 
loved  her,  he  had  mistaken  affection  for  love.  His 
calm  preference  from  boyhood  for  her  companion- 
ship showed  only  negative  value  as  compared  with 
what  had  growm  in  him  for  this  ever-fleeing  girl  of 
the  hills,  the  ghastly  doubt,  the  glowing  hope,  the 
desperate  demand — the  constant,  unutterable  long- 
ing to  have  and  to  hold  her,  to  receive  from  her 
truth-speaking  lips  the  benediction  that  she  also 
loved  him. 

Often  during  those  several  days  and  their  sev- 
eral nights,  had  he  uncovered  his  portrait  of  her 
and  sat  before  it,  asking  himself  whether  it  w^as 
the  looks  of  her  which  had  enslaved  his  beautj^-lov- 
ing  soul.  And  each  time  when  he  had  turned  his 
eyes  from  the  sight  of  color  and  lines,  his  heart 
had  sw^elled  to  bursting  In  appreciation  of  what 
made  her  loveliness  so  surpassing. 

A  rare  creature  she  was.  Were  she  plain,  the 
spirit  of  her  must  have  compelled  his  homage.  De- 
spite her  lack  of  what  his  world  called  "culture,'' 
she  had  a  mind  of  power;  she  had  loyalty  for  the 
man  who  deserved  it,  measured  best  by  the  con- 
tempt she  had  shown  for  him  who,  as  she  thought, 
did  not.  She  had  tenderness  as  well  as  genius  in 
those  strong,  long  hands  of  hers.     She  had,  above 


CONQUEROR  OF  HIMSELF  233 

all  the  pampered  women  of  his  world,  the  power 
to  reward  him. 

And  he  would  have  It — his  reward.  He  would 
deserve  It  first;  then  he  would  have  it.  This  he 
told  his  clamoring  heart  again  and  again. 

He  loved  the  mountain  girl  with  all  the  good 
there  was  in  him;  he  must  win  her  love  in  return. 
He  had  made  and  re-made  plans  for  their  future, 
subject,  all,  to  her  gracious  approval.  Firm  was 
his  Intention  that  her  pride  should  never  be  wounded 
from  her  past  lack  of  opportunity.  Never  should 
she  be  put  at  disadvantage  before  his  world.  She 
should  have  what  was  her  due,  no  matter  what  it 
cost  him  in  self-suppression  to  give  it  her.  He  had 
been  reared  to  selfishness;  he  would  rear  himself 
again  to  unselfishness.  To  whatsoever  she  decided, 
he  would  submit. 

It  was  not  to  tell  Verne  all  this  that  he  had  halt- 
ed by  the  roadside.  At  mere  thought  of  the  dear 
temptation,  all  those  dead  and  gone  Parkers  and 
Calvins  rose  up  and  reprimanded  him. 

None  of  either  line  had  been  engaged  to  marry 
two  women  at  the  same  time,  they  insisted.  They 
hoped  that  he  would  not  be  the  first  to  smirch  the 
family  honor. 

Before  confessing  the  state  of  his  heart  to  Verne 
he  must  confess  to  Sylvia,  must  Implore  her  pardon 
and  mercy.  Sylvia  must  see  that  he  would  be  wrong- 
ing her  as  well  as  himself  by  further  pretense  of  a 
sentiment  which  he  now  knew  never  to  have  ex- 
isted. Theirs  never  had  been  more  than  a  cor- 
dial affection.  As  he  understood  love  now,  she 
could  not  otherwise  have  endured  his  long  absence 
without  a  word  or  sign. 


234     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

It  would  all  come  right,  once  he  had  talked  with 
Sylvia;  once  he  had  explained  to  Spence  the  pre- 
dicament into  which  that  official  envelope  and  joker 
of  a  letter  had  thrust  him. 

The  pull  had  been  strong  to  revisit  the  Metcalf 
place,  but  a  stubborn  determination  to  show  that 
he  also  had  pride  had  held  him  back.  Contempla- 
tion, however,  had  approved  the  construction  of  two 
notes,  and  their  delivery  had  been  assured  by  the 
way-laying  of  Cotton  Eye  Lee. 

The  one  to  Verne  had  read: 

Should  the  attorney  for  the  defense  desert  the  prisoner  at 
the  bar  in  his  greatest  extremity  and  without  a  private  hear- 
ing? 

He  has  sought  you  at  3^our  claybank  studio,  but  you  do 
not  come.  He'll  wait  until  half  after  ten  at  Crossways, 
Friday  morning,  hoping  for  a  word  with  you  as  you  pass  to 
the  fair.  All  he  wants  from  the  court  of  the  hills  is  justice. 
Won't  5'ou  help  him  get  it? 

The  second  had  been  to  Old  Tom,  and  was  the 
outcome  of  an  argument  with  himself  to  the  effect 
that,  since  warnings  were  the  way  of  the  mountain 
world,  it  was  high  time  he  sent  one  himself.  He 
had  been  troubled  over  the  manner  of  address,  but, 
as  finally  despatched,  the  second  missive  had  read: 

To  THE  Wise: 

The  location  of  the  Metcalf  still  is  known  to  enemies. 
Whether  this  Vv^ord  be  considered  as  from  friend  or  foe,  no 
harm  can  be  done  by  heeding  it. 

'*A  well-wisher"  was  the  least  offensive  signature 
which  had  occurred  to  him. 

Pulling  out  his  watch,   Parker  noted  the  time. 


CONQUEROR  OF  HIMSELF         235 

Ten-thirty  already — and  before  twelve,  probably, 
his  friends  from  the  North  would  arrive.  He  must 
be  in  Dismal  to  meet  them;  must  welcome  them  as 
befitted  saviors,  since  his  saviors  they  were  to  be. 
He  must  be  riding  on.     And  yet — and  yet • 

Could  he  look  for  only  one  moment  into  those 
equivocally  timid,  fearless  eyes  whose  last  glance 
of  reproach  obsessed  him;  could  he,  without  speak- 
ing an  unworthy  word,  suggest  something  of  what 
he  felt  for  her,  which  must  show  in  his  expression, 
now  that  he  knew;  could  he,  by  the  very  force  of  the 
truth  in  him,  compel  a  retraction  of  dismissal  from 
her — oh,  it  would  be  something  to  treasure  through 
all  future  years  that  Verne's  instinctive  faith  in  him 
had  voted  down  what  seemed  conclusive  evidence ! 

So  long  had  been  his  wait,  so  introspective  his 
very  expectancy,  that  the  sound  of  hoof-beats  on 
the  ocher  road  was  startling.  Relief  surged  through 
him,  following  the  first  refreshing  wave  of  joy.  She 
was  coming — of  course  she  would  come !  His  case 
was  won,  the  final  verdict  as  good  as  spoken;  for, 
since  she  cared  enough  to  come,  she  would  care 
more  and  more,  enough  to  last  a  lifetime. 

He  swung  back  the  leg  which  had  been  resting 
negligently  over  the  pommel,  replaced  his  Panama, 
whirled  his  grazing  mount  to  face  the  up-road. 
Straight  and  strong  in  his  riding-garb  as  he  never 
had  looked  on  Central  Park  bridle-paths,  he  started 
eagerly  into  the  Blue  Ridge  depths  to  meet 

He  had  hoped  that  chance  was  to  favor  him  that 
day;  but  chance  evidently  had  not  gone  on  duty. 
There  was  no  small  white  mule  in  approach;  Instead, 
a  full-sized,  black  horse  and  upon  it  a  man. 

Parker's  recognition  of  Sandyred  Metcalf  caused 


X 


236     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

him  to  turn  and  start  along  his  way,  when  a  hail 
from  the  rear  stopped  him. 

*'Hi,  there,  stranger!     Got  something  for  you!" 

With  a  flourish  the  youth  drew  alongside  and 
passed  Parker  a  sealed  envelope.  *'I  was  asked  to 
drop  this  here  in  the  box  at  Dismal,  but  it  won't 
Impoverish  me  none  to  save  the  stamp  that  Skinflint 
Simms  would  probably  ask  for  passing  it  on  to 
you." 

''Your  sister,"  Parker  asked,  ''how  soon  will  she 
be  riding  to  the  village?" 

Desperation  had  Impelled  the  question,  for  a 
glance  had  shown  him  that  the  letter  was  his  own 
returned.  Her  name  on  the  envelope  had  been 
scratched  out  and  above  it  was  boldly  written: 

Unopened. 

To  Mr.  Partlceps  Crimlnis  Parker. 

"My  sister  says  she  don't  feel  like  celebrating 
to-day,"  Sandyred  returned.  "She  and  Miss  Emmy 
have  started  to  clean  house  and  that's  some  job. 
Dad — well,  he's  right  busy,  too.  Pm  late  myself; 
ought  to  had  my  tent  open  by  now.  So  long,  stran- 
ger.    See  you  at  the  carnival." 

To  Parker,  starting  more  sedately  than  had 
Sandyred  in  the  general  direction,  there  seemed  sig- 
nificance in  the  friendliness  of  this  explanation.  The 
finish,  in  particular,  had  sounded  like  an  overture. 
Had  the  signing  of  the  deeds,  the  discovery,  after 
he  had  gone,  of  Currie's  weapon  on  the  door-nail 
and  the  obvious  authorship  of  the  note  of  warning 
made  a  favorable  impression  upon  the  youngest  of 
the  clan? 

But  It  did  not  matter.    Nothing  mattered,  except 


CONQUEROR  OF  HIMSELF         237 

that  Verne  had  not  opened  his  letter — had  not  come. 
Of  course  they  all  would  believe  In  him  after  Spen- 
cer Pope  had  vouched  for  him  as  one  In  no  way 
connected  with  the  government.  Since  no  other  mem- 
ber of  the  family  was  to  be  present,  the  explanation 
must  be  put  to  young  Metcalf.  All  that,  however, 
would  be  as  It  would  be.  The  prospect  was  spoiled 
by  the  fact  that  Verne  did  not  care.  That  must  be 
a  fact.  Had  she  cared  at  all,  wouldn't  she  have 
opened  and  read  his  note?  After  she  had  read, 
wouldn't  she  have  come? 

Because  his  start  was  late^  his  heraically  de- 
veloped shoulder  and  arm  muscles  held  Teetotaler 
to  a  particularly  straight  road  and  his  spur  pro- 
vided accelerating  suggestions.  As  it  fell  out,  he 
pounded  into  Trade  Street  just  behind  the  steaming 
black  of  Sandyred  and  in  plenty  of  time  to  meet 
the  stage  which  was  bringing  his  friends  to  the* 
vermilion  village.  He  formed  himself  into  a  mount- 
ed escort  of  one  to  the  porch  of  the  Hotel  Plott. 

With  what  llght-heartedness  he  could  assume, 
he  returned  their  enthusiastic  greetings.  Sylvia 
looked  a  vision,  he  declared;  as,  indeed,  she  did  in 
her  French-gray  cloak  and  chiffon  veil  tied  in  a 
piquant  bow  under  her  cleft  little  chin,  the  violet 
of  her  eyes  and  Dresden  flush  on  her  cheeks  bright- 
ening the  monotone  of  her  costume  and  silvery  fluff 
of  hair. 

Mrs.  Brainard  never  had  seemed  so  superb  to  him 
as  here  in  the  wilds,  he  assured  that  matron  with  his 
hand-shake.  As  for  Spencer — twice  he  leaned  from 
his  mount  to  slap  that  "best  friend"  upon  the  shoul- 
ders. Spencer  was  a  treat,  indeed,  for  an  exile's 
eyes. 


238     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

"And  who  says  Vm  not  a  wizard  at  prescribing 
cures  ?'^  Pope  addressed  them  collectively.  "Look 
him  over,  Sylvia  and  Madam — does  my  patient  ap- 
pear the  worse  for  his  absent  treatment?" 

Parker  straightened  for  their  inspection,  like  a 
trooper  at  "attention."  The  mother  raised  the  out- 
ermost of  her  protective  veils  and  applied  a  lorg- 
nette to  her  faded  gaze  Interestedly.  Sylvia  sent 
him  her  sweet,  flower-like  smile. 

"I  believe,  Cal,"  she  approved,  "you  could  get  a 
job  in  the  movies  now.  You  do  look  fit,  and  as 
handsome  as  Spencer — that  is,  almost."' 

"Now  you  are  rewarded!"  laughed  the  deputy 
collector,  himself  complimented  by  the  form  of  her 
com.pliment  to  another. 

Scarcely  had  the  diminutive  driver  of  the  stage 
pulled  up  before  the  "only"  hotel,  when  Aunt  Hootie 
was  bidding  them  welcome. 

"If  It  Isn't  Spencer  at  last — Spencer  Pope  from 
down  at  The  Corners!"  she  hooted  aw^ay.  "You 
are  changed,  my  dear  boy,  but  changed  for  the  bet- 
ter, I  must  remark.  Still,  I'd  have  known  you  any- 
where. Was  more  than  delighted  to  receive  your 
letter.  So  you've  come  all  this  way  to  cheer 
our  brave  friend  Parker  In  to-day's  stand  for  so- 
briety?" 

Pope  managed  to  get  In  a  nod  or  two,  but  noth- 
ing more. 

"The  ladies  are  welcome,  I  assure  you,  as  would 
be  any  friends  of  yours  or  Mr.  Parker's.  Hezekiah 
will  be  delighted  to  entertain  some  one  more  our 
class.  Hezekiah  is  my  husband,  Mrs.  Brainard 
and  Miss  Brainard,  and  a  genius.  If  I  do  say  it  as 
shouldn't,  at  jumping  teeth.     Come  right  In,  all  of 


CONQUEROR  OF  HIMSELF  239 

you.  Dinner  will  be  ready  as  soon  as  you  are  washed 
up. 

Afterward  Parker  realized  that  certain  more  or 
less  surreptitious  signals  of  Tobe  Riker  were  ad- 
dressed to  himself.  At  the  time,  however,  he  no- 
ticed them  only  as  peculiarities  in  the  conduct  of 
the  little  whip,  and  followed  his  party  into  the  house 
without  response. 

At  the  overladen  table  was  presented  the  doctor, 
who  received  the  encomiums  of  his  small  mate  over 
his  varied  abilities  as  fulsomely  as  he  returned  com- 
pliments to  her  and  all  their  guests. 

The  undercurrent  of  amusement  through  that 
never-ending  feast  was  appreciated  by  all  but  the 
Plotts  themselves.  A  toe-prod  under  the  cloth  from 
Spencer  Pope  urged  Parker's  silence  and  a  question 
or  two  from  the  same  source  started  the  hostess  on 
phillipics  of  her  hero  of  the  day. 

"Naturally,"  observed  the  deputy  in  his  most 
official  voice,  "we  are  Interested  In  the  progress  Cal 
Parker  has  made  down  here.  Fact  is,  we're  here  for 
inspection.  He  has  been  fortunate,  indeed,  Mrs. 
Plott,  in  having  the  sustaining  aid  of  a  woman  like 
yourself  in  the  task  cut  out  for  him." 

"Friend  Parker  is  the  slickest  officer  ever  sent 
to  uphold  the  cause,  barring  not  even  yourself,"  in- 
terpolated Dr.  Hezeklah  with  Impressment. 

Parker  frowned  at  the  subject  broached,  despite 
Spencer's  shake  of  head  and  Sylvia's  Incipient  laugh 
— made  to  resemble  a  sneeze  In  her  napkin. 

"But  I  am  not  a  revenue  officer,"  he  protested. 
"This  nonsense  has  got  me  Into  a  lot  of  trouble,  and 
it  Is  high  time " 

"There  he  goes — won't  let  his  left  have  the  least 


240     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

mite  of  suspicion !"  Aunt  Hootie's  interruption  was 
intoned  rapturously.  *'Some  of  our  brother  and 
sister  drys  have  feared  that  he  was  not  moving  fast 
enough,  but  I  always  remind  them  that  he's  play- 
ing a  game  against  the  most  wily  blockading  fox 
never  caught." 

She  paused  to  beam  at  Parker,  but  before  he 
could  check  her,  sped  on:  "Old  Tom  Metcalf  has 
got  a  double  reason  for  foiling  the  law,  now  that 
brush  whisky  brings  double  price  by  the  gallon.  It 
may  sound  easy  enough  to  an  outsider  to  catch  him 
actually  stilling  the  pernicious  stuff,  but  it  ain't  turned 
out  that  way.  Everybody  who  knows  Tom  fears  his 
lead.  I'd  be  sorry  for  his  daughter  if  it  wa'n't  for 
the  cause." 

"So  Old  Tom  has  a  daughter?"  The  deputy  col- 
lector glanced  quizzically  from  the  little  lady  to 
Parker;  then,  with  a  nod  of  punctuation,  to  Mrs. 
Brainard. 

Regretfully,  Mrs.  Plott  gazed  into  the  plate  of 
steaming  corn-bread  with  which  she  had  been  im- 
portuning each  guest  in  turn.  "Verney  Metcalf  is 
the  likeliest  looking  girl  the  sticks  ever  grew,  and 
a  sweet  girl,  too,  although  the  rough  life  she's  been 
brought  up  to  has  kind  of  sharpened  her  tongue. 
I'd  be  all  wrought  up  over  the  way  the  cause  is  using 
her  if  it  wasn't  that  she  countenances  her  pappy's 
crime.  Verney  will  have  to  take  her  bitter  dose 
along  with  her  men  folks,  I  reckon,  since  the  wages 
of  sin — you  know.  That  is,  unless  Rex  Currie  can 
save  her." 

Pope's  interest  heightened.  "You  mean  Rex,  son 
of  Dode  Currie,  who  used  to  trade  over  at  Horse- 
pasture  Cove?'* 


CONQUEROR  OF  HIMSELF         241. 

She  nodded.  "And  a  choice  rascal  Dode  was 
said  to  be.  It  looked  as  if  Rex,  a  right  favored  lad, 
was  following  in  his  footsteps,  for  he's  been  Old 
Tom's  bootlegger  for  years,  but  I  begin  to  see  now 
that  he's  only  been  hanging  around  account  of  Ver- 
ney.  He's  as  good  as  told  me  he'll  soon  be  on  our 
reform  list.  We  hope" — this  last  she  sibilated — 
"that  Friend  Parker  here  can  get  Rex  to  show  the 
way  to  Old  Tom's  still." 

Although  Parker  had  writhed  inwardly  at  the 
discussion  of  the  mountain  girl,  he  realized  that  his 
position  was  one  of  great  disadvantage.  Seeing  no 
way  of  bettering  it,  he  kept  silence,  a  smile  of  simu- 
lated amusement  at  the  whole  subject  upon  his  face. 

"I  begin  to  see."  Spencer  was  speaking,  evidently 
in  the  abstraction  of  deep  thought,  under  the  spell 
of  which  he  withdrew  an  opened  letter  from  his 
coat  pocket,  studied  its  superscripture,  then  replaced 
it.  "Rex  Currie  resents  the  prospect  of  Miss  Met- 
calf's  being  used  by  the  cause,  eh?  H-m!  I  do 
begin  to  see.  And  have  you,  Cal,  Ingratiated  your- 
self sufficiently  with  these  outlaws  of  the  sticks  that 
you  drink  with  them  for  the  sake  of  the  cause,  dis- 
tasteful as  that  would  be  to  one  of  your  high  prin- 
ciples?" 

Aunt  Hootie  forestalled  her  hero's  reply.  "Not 
he!  I've  an  idea  he'll  push  on  to  victory  without 
once  smirching  his  lips  with  the  vile  stuff." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say,"  interposed  Mrs.  Bralnard, 
"that  there  is  whisky  in  these  Blue  Ridges  and  Cal 
Parker  hasn't  drunk  any  of  It?" 

"Not  to  my  best  belief  and  knowledge,  high 
Heaven  be  praised,  except  a  drop  or  two  I  gave  him 
myself  for  medicinal  purposes  only  I     Set  as  I  am 


242     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

against  the  poison,  I  hold  that  a  revenuer  Is  entitled 
to  enough  to  steady  his  nerves." 

"Oh,  Cal,  that  is  fine — wonderftiir'  exclaimed 
Sylvia. 

Pope  gave  up  to  a  small  attack  of  coughing. 

*'A  drop  or  two — for  medicinal  purposes  onlyr* 
he  commented  when  able.  "I  reckon  that  won't  do 
the  cause  or  Cal  any  harm." 

He  thus  lauded  and  surreptitiously  attacked,  ab- 
ruptly changed  the  subject  to  the  local  fair.  His 
guests  had  arrived  just  in  time,  he  said.  There 
was  billed  for  the  afternoon  and  evening  a  barbe- 
cue and  dance  which  would  draw  an  outpouring  of 
queer  types  and  hand-loomed  costumes  from  the  hills 
that  could  scarcely  fail  to  amuse  them. 

''There's  going  to  be  two  entire  beeves,"  added 
Dr.  Hezekiah.  ''If  you've  never  tasted  Nor'  Caro- 
lina barbecued  meat,  you  have  a  treat  in  store.  And 
you  need  fear  neither  ruction  nor  cuss-fight,  since, 
for  the  first  time  In  the  history  of  these  festivities, 
we  drys  hope  for  absolute  sobriety." 

Sylvia  at  once  expressed  enthusiasm  for  the  frolic, 
but  her  mother  Insisted  on  an  hour's  Interval  for 
rest  after  their  jolting  ride  from  the  station.  In 
this  Parker  saw  opportunity.  He  proposed  that 
Spencer  explore  the  village  under  his  guidance  and 
return  for  the  women  at  the  end  of  the  hour.  Sixty 
minutes,  he  told  himself,  would  be  long  enough 
for  him  to  explain  to  Spencer  the  serious  side  of 
a  situation  which  at  first  glance  looked  only  ridicu- 
lous; would  allow  him  to  engage  Spencer's  authorita- 
tive aid  In  the  statement  which  must  be  made  to 
young  Metcalf  as  soon  as  occasion  offered. 

Sometime  before  the  festivities  ended,  probably 


CONQUEROR  OF  HIMSELF         243 

best  during  the  dance  that  evening,  he  would  sepa- 
rate Sylvia  from  the  others  long  enough  to  accom- 
plish his  difficult  explanation  and  plea.  No  mat- 
ter how  hostile  Verne's  attitude  toward  him  might 
be,  he  felt  that  this  explanation  was  due  everybody 
concerned.  The  past  Parkers,  he  knew,  would  ap- 
prove. One  of  their  line  could  not  place  himself 
under  a  lifelong  obligation  to  make  happy  one  of 
the  dearest  girls  In  the  world  when  his  entire  self — 
mind,  heart,  body — was  aching  for  the  denied  fa- 
vors of  another. 

The  prospect  was  not  lightened  by  Sylvia's  im- 
pulsive leave-taking  of  him  in  the  hall,  with  her  two 
protectors  looking  on.  She  suddenly  raised  herself 
on  tiptoe,  lifted  her  arms  around  his  neck,  bestowed 
the  clinging,  fragrant  kiss  of  their  childhood  games 
upon  his  lips. 

"You  are  splendid,  Cal,  to  have  been  so  good. 
I'd  rather  you'd  be  good  than — anything.  You'll 
tell  me  all  about  the  struggle  later  on?" 

The  deep  flush  which  mounted  to  his  face  was 
from  embarrassment,  but  was  misunderstood  by  the 
observers  three.  Yes,  he  assured  her,  he  would 
tell  her  about  it — slater  on. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

WAIT   AND   SEE 

Excerpts  from  several  brief  Interviews  which 
took  place  all  within  that  siesta  hour  stipulated  by 
Mrs.  Bralnard's  guardianship  of  her  daughter's 
chief  asset — her  looks — will  help  to  explain  and 
condone  much  that  follows. 

Calvin  Parker's  statement  to  his  *'best  friend" 
need  not  be  detailed.  While  making  their  way  up 
the  middle  of  Trade  Street,  dodging  the  gathering 
holiday  crowd,  he  had  put  It — and  with  strength. 
The  joke  which  so  diverted  those  who  knew  him 
best,  he  declared,  had  come  to  be  too  greatly  at  his 
expense.  As  he  wished  to  gain  the  confidence  of 
certain  mountain  neighbors,  he  hoped  that  Spencer 
would  clear  him  of  the  charge  of  being  In  the  gov- 
ernment service  before  Sandyred  Metcalf,  whom  he 
would  Introduce  during  the  afternoon. 

The  deputy  collector,  although  candidly  regret- 
ting the  serious  finis  to  an  amusing  situation,  had 
agreed  to  do  his  official  best.  He  had  expressed  a 
wish  to  stop  at  SImms's  Emporium  to  look  for  some 
souvenir  cards  for  Sylvia.  They  were  undertaking 
the  steps  when  Tobe  RIker,  having  changed  to  gala 
attire  that  did  not  at  all  match  the  portentous  ex- 
pression of  his  wind-weathered  visage,  recalled  his 
mysterious  signals  of  the  morning  by  asking  a  pri- 
vate word  with  Parker.     Spencer  obhglngly  dlsap- 

244 


WAIT  AND  SEE  245 

peared  Into  the  general  store,  while  the  artist  fol- 
lowed the  little  whip  to  one  end  of  the  uncovered 
porch. 

*'I  hope,"  began  Riker,  "you-all  ain't  holding  no 
rancor  again  me  for  dumping  you  into  the  mud  that 
first  day?" 

"Not  at  all.  I  was  obliged,  on  the  contrary,  for 
the  timely  reminder  of  dust-to-dust,  even  though  the 
road  was  a  bit  oozy  for  the  application." 

"Leastwise,  you  wasn't  wet."  The  little  man 
paused  for  the  significance  of  this  suggestion  to 
sink  In.  After  an  upcast  wink  of  solemn  sort,  he 
drew  the  "foreigner"  further  away  from  the  win- 
dow and  continued.  "I've  been  wizened  since  that 
the  gover'ment  sent  you  to  snuff  the  liquor  lights 
hereabouts." 

Parker  denied  the  reiterated  charge  Impatiently. 
"Well,  you've  been  wizened,  unwisely,  Riker  I  The 
government  did  not  send  me,  and  I'm  snuffing  no 
liquor  lights  except  my  own."  \ 

Again  and  even  more  solemnly,  Tobe  winked. 
"Which  or  whether,  what's  going  to  be  can't  be 
stopped,  nohow.  I  ain't  taking  no  stand,  mind,  wet 
or  dry,  and  If  you  look  for'ard  to  being  staged  out 
of  here  safely,  you'd  best  not  tell  who  told  you-all." 

"Told  me  what?" 

"What  I'm  meaning  to."  The  whip's  forbidding 
glare  eased  as  he  glanced  around.  Inviting  the 
closer  attention  of  the  artist's  ear  by  an  arm-tug, 
he  continued  In  guarded  tones:  "There's  a  party 
not  so  far  from  here  what  plans  to  make  a  safe  get- 
away when  the  law  snitches  off  them  he's  been  work- 
ing for.  I  ain't  saying  which  one  it  Is,  except  that  it 
ain't  old  Tom  nor  Sandy,  and  naturally  it  ain't  Miss 


246     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

Emmy.  Twenty-five  dollars  cash  has  been  offered 
me  for  driving  said  party  with  bag  and  bag- 
gage outen  here  whatever  night  the  fracas 
chances." 

"You  mean  Currie — that  he's  hired  you  to  drive 
him  out  if  the  Metcalfs  get  into  trouble?'* 

"I  ain't  saying  what  nor  who  nor  near  all  that 
I  might  if  I'd  a  mind  to.  I  ain't  wet  nor  I  ain't 
dry,  I  tell  you,  and  I  could  do  with  the  twenty-five. 
But  I  have  a  kind  of  slight  at  suspicioning  folks 
I  don't  like.  Ask  yourself  why  this  party  can't  set 
a  date  for  going  if  he's  going  honest  and  has  the 
price.  Somebody's  inside  Simms's  store,  what  I 
wouldn't  want  to  see  me  confabbing  with  you,  so  I'd 
best  be  skiting.  But  you  just  keep  an  eye  on  my 
passenger  and,  especial,  on  the  baggage  he  takes  the 
night  when  the  law  grabs  that  ornery  Metcalf 
bunch." 

Parker  felt  real  concern  over  this  guardedly  meted 
information,  although  he  had  been  in  some  measure 
prepared  for  it  by  Aunt  Hootie's  exultation  over 
the  "reform"  of  Currie.  The  pointed  questions 
which  he  put,  however,  were  all  blunted  by  mys- 
terious replies. 

For  some  minutes  after  the  driver  had  disappear- 
ed, he  stood  trying  to  puzzle  it  out.  Riker's  in- 
centive was  patent — he  wished  to  foil  some  plan  of 
a  man  he  hated  on  account  of  the  lady  whom,  though 
."ornery,"  he  still  loved.  At  the  same  time,  he  wished 
to  take  no  chances  with  that  twenty-five. 

But  If  Currie  foresaw  the  necessity  of  a  sudden 
disappearance,  why  go  by  the  coach,  instead  of  on 
horseback?  And  why  did  he  linger  for  trouble? 
His  attempt  to  sell  the  mountain  farm  away  from 


WAIT  AND  SEE  247 

the  Metcalfs,  his  rage  at  being  tricked  for  their 
benefit,  his  attack  on  Parker's  life,  his  over- 
tures toward  the  dry  faction,  his  attempted  intimi- 
dation of  Vernaluska  that  day  at  the  clay-bank — 
all  these  facts  borrowed  significance  from  Tobe 
Riker's  tip. 

The  only  sure  conclusion  was  that  Currie  had  rea- 
son to  stay  in  the  region  until  after  the  Metcalf 
downfall.  He  seemed,  more  than  hitherto,  "a 
party"  to  be  watched. 

Meanwhile,  a  reunion  of  two  had  taken  place 
inside  the  store,  where  Rex  Currie  was  "tending'* 
In  the  temporary  absence  of  his  friend,  the  Yankee 
proprietor.  After  a  first  glance  of  elaborate  sur- 
prise, the  hillbilly  leaned  over  the  counter  to  extend 
a  welcome  hand.  This,  Spencer  Pope  seized  in  a 
warm  grasp. 

"Glad  to  see  you,  Spence,"  said  Currie.  "Hoped 
my  answer  to  your  letter  would  bring  you." 

"It  hurried  my  arrival.  So  Parker  really  isn't 
drinking,  after  all  my  trouble  to  locate  him  in  the 
land  where  the  corn-juice  flows?  I  suppose  his  re- 
form IS  to  please  this  mountain  girl  I  hear  he's  fas- 
cinated with?" 

Pope  watched  the  hillbilly's  face  while  putting 
the  question.     He  was  rewarded. 

Currie's  jaw  set,  his  face  flushed. 

"What's  that  got  to  do  with  it?" 

"A  whole  lot.  Rex.  You're  Interested  In  this  girl 
yourself;  I'm  interested  in  another — a  case  of  girl 
all  around.  Parker  has  been  boasting  about  his  re- 
form and  I  want  to  trip  him  up.  Understand  me? 
If  you'll  get  him  drunk  at  the  fair  this  afternoon,  I'll 
make  It  well  worth  your  while." 


248     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

Curriers  smile  of  slow  comprehension  broadened 
into  a  grin.  "I  thought  you  claimed  to  be  a  friend 
of  his?" 

*'He  thinks  I  do,  too.  I  was,  until  he  got  in  my 
way.  All's  fair  in  love — you  know  that.  What  I 
ask  is  that  you  start  him  drinking." 

"Start  him  drinking?  You,  if  any  one,  ought 
to  know,  Spence,  that  North  Carolina  is  dry  as 
— as  the  morning  after." 

Pope  drew  down  one  eyelid.  *'And  the  cure  for 
the  morning  after  used  to  be  some  of  the  hair  of 
the  dog  that  did  the  biting,  didn't  it?" 

*'But  it  won't  help  my  game  to  set  him  off."  Cur- 
rie  scowled.  "That  would  go  to  prove  he  ain't  no 
revenuer,  after  all,  and  likely  get  him  back  into 
favor  where  I've  just  got  him  out." 

The  "best  friend"  laughed.  "You  needn't  have 
any  fear  on  that  score.  The  smash-up  mentioned 
in  your  letter  can  come  as  quickly  as  you  like  after 
this  show-up,  which,  between  ourselves,  is  the  sole 
object  of  my  visit.  A  revenuer  might  be  drinking 
to  get  evidence,  mightn't  he?" 

"But  Parker  wouldn't  take  a  drink  from  me — we 
hate  each  other  like  snakes!" 

"Why  not  get  him  through  this  young  Metcalf 
then,  whom  he's  so  anxious  to  make  up  with  on  ac- 
count of  the  girl?" 

At  this  adroit  suggestion,  Currle  flared.  "So-ho, 
he's  aiming  to  set  up  to  Sandy?" 

"He  sure  is.  Asked  my  aid  to  convince^  the 
brother  that  he  had  no  designs  on  the  family  still. 
Come,  Rex,  you've  nothing  to  lose  by  doing  this, 
and  a  whole  lot  to  gain  if  Miss  Metcalf  is  as  good- 
looking  as  she's  said  to  be.     Besides,  Cal  Parker 


WAIT  AND  SEE  249 

running  on  high  is  a  spectacle  that  Is  Its  own  reward. 
Here,  stick  this  in  your  pocket  and  go  to  it !" 

Pope  handed  over  a  bank  note  of  generous  size. 
After  a  brief  pause  at  the  post-card  rack  for  a  ran- 
dom selection  of  souvenirs,  he  sauntered  out  of 
the  store.  To  his  further  gratification,  he  found 
Parker  on  the  steps  outside,  apparently  absorbed 
in  meditation  and  quite  unsuspicious  of  the  low- 
voiced  indoor  exchange. 

Currie,  starting  some  minutes  later  In  the  gen- 
eral direction  of  the  pasture-lot,  which  held  the  scat- 
tered booths,  refreshment  tents,  and  rough-board 
barbecue  tables  of  the  ''fair,"  received  a  disappoint- 
ing report,  as  well  as  some  startling  information, 
from  a  tool  of  his  ow^n.  He  had  fallen  Into  the 
shambling  step  of  Abide-with-me  Shortoff,  who,  as 
It  chanced,  had  been  dismissed  by  the  liege-lady  of 
the  family  purse  while  she  visited  the  "Emporium" 
to  price  petticoatlng. 

"How  you  coming  on,  Bide,  with  that  scheme  of 
ours  r 

Dismally  sagged  the  hen-pecked  chin,  droned  the 
voice.  "How  can  I  be  coming  along  with  It  when 
Old  Tom's  bumbling  still  ain't  where  you  said  It'd 
be?" 

"Ain't  where  I  said?"  demanded  Currie.  "If  It 
ain't  there,  where  Is  It?" 

"I  dunno !  Tom  must  a-moved  along.  Likely 
he's  livened  up  by  now  and  will  be  extra  careless 
with  the  lead.  'Twa'n't  no  use,  nohow,  offering  to 
guide  the  slick  to  It  if  I'd  lost  track  of  w^here  It  was. 
This  here  State  has  done  come  to  be  a  right  oncer- 
tain  place,  If  you'd  ask  me." 


250     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

"And  going  to  be  more  uncertain  for  some  folks," 
the  bootlegger  glowered,  "once  we  find  where  that 
hell-fox  has  moved  to.  You  come  along  with  me, 
Bide.  Reckon  I  can  find  a  drop  or  two  to  wet  your 
whistle  before  Sally  catches  up  with  you.  I'd 
worked  It  out  that  for  you  to  lead  along  Parker 
was  a  neat  way  of  doing  for  him  with  both 
drys  and  wets,  leaving  me  out  of  It.  Now  we'll 
be  obhged  to  hold  back  until  we  £nd  that 
still!" 

In  Aunt  Hootie's  best  room,  the  havoc  of  road 
travel  had  been  somewhat  effaced  from  the  faces 
of  the  fair  guests.  In  so  far  as  concerns  Sylvia's 
parent,  the  process  had  consisted  of  a  smudging 
on  and  wiping  off  of  safe-and-sane  sanitary  creams. 
The  girl  had  pinned  back  the  cloud  of  hair  whose 
ash-gray  was  the  glory  of  youth,  rather  than,  as  In 
her  mother's  case,  the  doom  of  middle  age.  She 
had  dipped  her  face  fearlessly  Into  the  water  of  the 
hand  wash-basin. 

"He  looks  as  If  he  really  had  quit — Cal,"  she  ob- 
served.    "I  hope — oh,  I  hope  he  has!" 

Mrs.  Bralnard  noted  the  access  of  sentiment  dis- 
approvingly. 

"Maybe  he  has  while  here,  childie.  It  seems 
strange  that  Spencer  should  have  selected  this  par- 
ticular place  for  him,  doesn't  It,  when  he  must  have 
known  there  was  whisky  In  the  mountains?  I 
thought  the  whole  Idea  was  based  on  the  fact  that 
North  Carolina  Is  dry.  Cal  Parker's  real  test  will 
come  when  he  gets  back  to  the  convivial  temptations 
of  New  York.  I've  a  notion  to  ask  him  to  return 
with  us  and  have  it  over." 


WAIT  AND  SEE  251 

"Let's  do  It,  momsy!  I  feel  sure  he's  quite  re- 
constructed." 

**What  I  don't  see,  dear,  is  why  you  consider  a 
reconstructed  man  when  you  could  take  your  choice 
of  so  many  strong  since  birth." 

The  lightish  color  of  the  matron's  eyes  deepened 
as  she  contemplated  her  lovely  offspring,  even  as  the 
line  of  the  lips  she  had  just  rouged  thickened  with 
determination. 

^'You're  not  going  to  marry  a  mistake,  Sylvia — 
not  If  I  can  help  it.  The  best  man  alive  is  none 
too  good  for  my  darling,  and  all  the  Parker  money 
would  never  make  up  to  your  mother  for  Cal  as  he 
was." 

"I  don't  want  Cal  as  he  was."  Sylvia  made  a 
shy,  delightful  moue.  "But  he  looks  so  different 
and  he  is  so  attractive.  I'm  sure  he's  going  to  fulfill 
all  my  hopes  of  him.  You  want  your  darling  to 
marry  the  man  she  likes  the  best,  don't  you?" 

Mrs.  Bralnard  was  quick  to  acknowledge  this  wish 
as  her  very  own. 

"I'vq  been  thinking,"  continued  the  daughter, 
"that  a  reconstructed  man  just  might  be  safer  than 
one,  as  you  put  It,  strong  since  birth.  Spencer,  for 
instance.  Is  so  strong  that  sometimes  I — I  hate  him. 
And  I  don't  think  It's  honorable  of  him  to  have  been 
making  love  to  me  all  along,  right  under  Cal's 
nose." 

"You  shouldn't  blame  him  for  that,  wheji  he 
adores  you." 

"I  know — as  a  master  flier  adores  the  machine 
under  his  control.  I  wonder  whether  an  airplane 
doesn't  ever  want  to  fly  the  other  way,  to  go  up  when 
the  steering  hand  says  down?" 


252     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

With  unwonted  spirit,  the  girl  crossed  to  where 
her  mother  was  resting  on  the  bed. 

*^It's  against  your  convictions  for  me  to  marry 
Cal  Parker.  Yet  when  I  think  of  marrying  Spencer, 
my  chief  conviction  is  that  the  domination  of  the 
bird-man  w^ould  arouse  in  the  little  human  bird  a 
will  of  her  own.  All  I  can  say  is,  he'd  start  a  whole 
lot  of  trouble  for  himself.  However,  keep  that  fair 
mind  of  yours  open;  we'll  watch  Cal  and  see." 

They  settled  it  that  way.  They  would  watch  Cal ; 
would  see. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

KNOCK-OUT   CHAMPION 

Before  a  pair  of  tents  near  the  entrance  to  "Car- 
nival Pasture,"  Cotton  Eye;  Lee  was  beseeching  all 
wayfarers  to  step  up  and  regale  themselves  on  soft 
drink  and  sandwiches  at  a  price  per  "regale"  which 
he  quoted  temptingly.  But  Rex  Currie  and  the  slab- 
sided  son  of  gloom  who  accompanied  him  did  not 
pay  the  black  the  courtesy  of  a  moment's  hesitation. 
They  strode  under  a  canvas  flap  into  the  rear  tent, 
where  they  found  Sandyred  Metcalf,  proprietor. 
After  certain  assurances  had  been  made  by  the  hill- 
billy, Bide  Shortoff  got  his  drink  and  was  sent  his 
way  to  find  Sally — lest  Sally  find  him. 

Currie  then  broached  the  subject  which  had 
brought  him  to  the  tent.  He  laid  before  the  young 
Impressionable  the  arguments  which,  in  view  of 
Old  Tom's  drastic  dismissal  of  himself  a  few  nights 
before,  he  had  felt  would  be  necessary  and  had 
prepared. 

Why  couldn't  they,  who  had  been  friends  so  many 
years,  remain  friends,  no  matter  what  the  "old 
man"  thought?  If  Sandy  knew  what  was  good  for 
him  and  safe  for  the  family,  he  would  find  out  who 
were  for  them  and  who  against.  For  instance,  there 
was  that  foreigner  who  was  setting  up  to  Verna- 
luska — he,  Rex  had  cooled  down  somewhat  since 
the  other  night,  but  was  Sandy  going  to  take  a  chance 

253 


254     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

unless  he  knew  whether  or  not  the  fellow  was  a 
revenuer? 

Why  not  put  the  dude  In  puttees  to  the  acid  test 
of  daring  hhn  to  take  a  drink?  If  he  up  and  swal- 
lowed like  a  man,  they  both  would  be  satisfied,  Rex 
would  apologize,  and  all  would  be  well.  If  he 
wouldn't  drink  there  was  still  time  to  get  right  busy. 
Rex  would  place  the  stuff  handy  just  inside.  All  he 
wanted.  Heaven  knew,  was  that  the  truth  be  brought 
out  for  the  sake  of  the  girl  who  had  been  denied 
him,  but  whose  welfare  he  always  would  have  at 
heart.  That  Sandyred  was  open  to  conviction,  he 
proved  by  finally  being  convinced.  He  did  not  in- 
tend to  fall  short  In  his  relationship  to  Verney. 

The  properties  of  the  test  were  ready  when,  a 
few  moments  later,  Parker,  at  Pope's  suggestion, 
turned  into  the  pasture  lot  for  a  preview  of  the 
scene  of  festivities. 

The  youngest  of  the  Metcalfs,  his  mood  of  the 
morning  rather  emphasized  than  otherwise,  returned 
the  Northerner's  greeting  outside  his  refreshment 
booth  and  showed  no  disinclination  toward  the  In- 
troduction to  Pope. 

"Be  you  the  Spencer  Pope  that's  deputy  to  the 
gover'ment?"  drawled  the  young  outlaw,  with 
bravado. 

*'Yes,  he  Is,"  Parker  answered,  "and  I've  Intend- 
ed he  should  meet  you  In  a  semi-official  capacity.  He 
is  going  to  oblige  me  with  a  statement  regarding 
myself.  Will  you  tell  Metcalf,  Spence,  exactly 
who  and  what  I  am?" 

Pope  obliged,  according  to  his  part  of  continuing 
to  appear  "best  friend."  "Calvin  Parker  Is  an  ar- 
tist by  profession  and  In  no  way  connected  with  the 


KNOCK-OUT  CHAMPION  255 

revenue  service.  He  came  to  North  Carolina  at  my 
suggestion  because  I  knew  the  State  to  be  dry.  His 
sole  object  was  to  get  control  of  his  thirst." 

"So  we-all  have  hearn  tell."  There  was  a  jibe 
in  Sandy's  agreement. 

"I  give  you  my  word,  Metcalf,  that  the  name  of 
Parker  has  nev^er  been  on  our  pay-rolls.  The  rec- 
ords will  show  It." 

"Them  records — they  ain't  here,  are  they?  As 
for  words,  why  shoot  any  more  at  us-all?  Mr. 
Parker  is  right  free  with  them  himself."  Sandy 
waved  a  calming  hand.  "For  sure.  It  don't  concern 
me  none  whether  he's  looking  for  bootleggers  up 
yon  In  the  hills  or  not,  we-all  being  plain  farmers, 
grubbing  for  enough  to  do  on.  But  here  it  Is,  just 
on  general  principles — he  Is  an  officer  or  he  ain't. 
Something  more  than  words  would  be  needed  to 
hit  the  bull's-eye." 

"What,  for  Instance?"  asked  Parker.  "Pope,  here, 
and  Mrs.  Brainard,  who  came  with  him  will  both 
vouch  that  the  letter  which  read  so  strangely  to 
you  up  on  the  Fork  was  a  strictly  personal  mat- 


ter." 


Sandyred's  credulity  seemed  to  be  growing  less 
and  less.  "Another  passel  of  words — written 
words.  Now  looky  here,  out-Norther;  Pm  rea- 
sonable, and  there's  been  things  occurred  since  the 
other  night  that  point  my  grudge  away  from  you. 
You  say  you're  a  hard-hitter  that's  come  down  here 
to  cure  your  thirst.     Suppose " 

He  paused  and  turned.  At  the  moment  the  en- 
trance to  the  tent  had  become  occupied.  Pope 
gripped  Parker's  arm. 

"Isn't  that  the  Rex  Currie  we  were  speaking  of 


256     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

at  lunch?"  His  voice  was  a  low  aside,  his  manner 
that  of  half-recognition  after  years. 

**Spencer  Pope,  by  grace  1'*  The  bootlegger 
strode  forward. 

"Delighted  and  surprised,  Currlel  Have  you 
met  my  friend  Parker?" 

In  view  of  the  issue,  the  artist  thought  best  tem- 
porarily to  retire  his  standing  quarrel  with  the  new 
entrant.  Standing  off  and  prepared  for  "tricks," 
he  acknowledged  acquaintance  with  a  nod. 

"Sure  weVe  met,  and  there  ain't  no  love  lost  be- 
tween us,  but  if  he's  a  friend  of  yours,  Pope,  that's 
different,"  said  Currle  with  a  large  manner. 

"Did  you  hear  what  we-all  were  chinning  over?" 
Sandy  cut  in.  "I've  just  been  thinking,  now,  that 
It  might  back  up  Parker's  argument  if  he'd  take  a 
swallow  or  two  of  good  liquor  with  us-all.  If  he's 
a  revenuer,  he  won't  drink;  if  he  ain't,  he  likely 
will.  I've  got  a  few  bumbllngs  stowed  Inside  for  a 
little  cheer-you-up  between  festivities.  If  this  strikes 
you  as  more  fair  than  foul,  Parker,  step  inside.  I'll 
pass  a  free  wetness." 

Currie  sent  a  suspicious  look  toward  the  visiting 
deputy. 

"Oh,  you  needn't  be  afraid  of  me,  Rex,"  that  of- 
ficial reassured  him.     "I'm  on  vacation  to-day." 

Still  addressing  Parker  directly,  young  Metcalf 
further  urged:  "You  made  a  fine-sounding  proposi- 
tion the  other  night  of  becoming  our  particeps 
criminis.  This  here's  a  short-cut  to  the  same 
end.  Leave  us  hear  you  clink  to  it  before  your 
friend." 

All  eyes  turned  upon  the  artist.  Pope  proclaimed 
Ills  approval  with  a  shoulder  slap  and  the  sugges- 


KNOCK-OUT  CHAMPION  257 

tion  that  if  he  really  wished  to  be  convincing  an 
agreeable  means  offered. 

The  suspect  seemed  to  have  made  up  his  mind. 
Without  any  of  the  words  which  young  Metcalf  de- 
preciated, he  preceded  the  three  men  into  the  back 
tent.  It  was  Rex  Currie  who,  while  Sandyred  was 
letting  down  the  flap  to  shut  off  the  small  ceremony 
from  public  view,  assorted  the  flasks  found,  ready 
filled,  upon  the  table.  The  liquid  within  three  was 
colorless — the  pure  corn  whisky  of  regional  disre- 
pute. Only  one  of  the  quartette  noted  with  satis- 
faction that  Parker's  had  an  amber  cast,  knew  that 
Its  alive  look  was  given  by  mixture  with  buckeye 
juice,  that  well-known,  knock-out  champion. 

Parker's  mind  was  distracted  by  regret  over  the 
form  of  this  means  to  an  end  upon  which  he  had 
determined.  Before  uncorking  his  flask,  he  un- 
pinned and  slipped  into  his  waist-coat  pocket  a  small 
amethyst  brooch  which  had  adorned  his  cravat. 

*'To  Mr.  Particeps  Criminis!'* 

Sandyred  named  the  toast.  All  lifted  their  indi- 
vidual containers  and  tossed  off  in  good  form.  Real- 
izing that  he  was  under  Inspection,  Parker  drank 
deep,  then  shuddered  as  the  fiery  draft  lapped  down- 
ward. There  was  a  peculiar  taste  to  it — one  that 
he  had  not  noticed  in  the  brush  whisky  he  had  drunk 
before. 

Strangely  enough,  he  felt  cheered  mentally  by 
his  physical  distaste.  It  gave  the  test  which  the 
young  mountaineer  had  proposed  a  grateful  side- 
issue  In  proving  that  his  newly  stimulated  ideals  had 
conquered  his  gluttony.  There  was  no  attraction 
In  the  bottle  itself — that  he  realized  with  unspeaka- 
ble relief.     Even  while  sniffing  Its  fumes  he  knew 


258     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

that  he  never  would  return  to  liquor.  Whether 
Verne  cared  or  whether  she  did  not,  he  had  come 
to  care  too  much  for  his  own  self-respect  to  out- 
rage it. 

"A  revenue  slick  might  take  one  swiggle  and  not 
prove  anything,"  he  heard  Currie  offer,  then  the 
toast  which,  from  him,  was  a  reinforced  challenge: 
^'Here's  to  what  we  want  and  are  going  to  have  I'* 

A  few  swallows  more  or  less  did  not  matter  to 
Parker,  since  he  had  found  that  they  must  be  forced. 
The  toast  was  one  he  could  honor  with  a  will.  His 
eyes  flared  back  into  the  hillbilly's,  while  the  four 
flasks  were  again  upraised.  He  knew  that  Currie 
was  pledging  the  same  hope  as  he — the  hope  of 
Verne. 

*'ril  be  off,  Cal,  and  stop  here  for  you  on  my  way 
back.  I'm  late  now.  Guess  you  can  win  this  liquid 
debate  as  to  your  identity  without  any  further  help 
from  me." 

Parker  nodded  toward  the  man  he  believed  his 
friend  who  was  stooping  to  exit  under  the  tent- 
flap.  He  was  preoccupied  with  a  question  born  of 
the  exultation  surging  through  him.  What  was  it 
the  gas-man  had  said  when  sent  for  to  fix  the  logs 
In  his  studio  fire-place  last  winter?  The  best  re- 
sults came  from  a  blue  flame,  not  red.  He  must  not 
turn  the  gas  on  full  force;  he  must  regulate  it.  Real 
heat,  good  cheer,  great  power  came,  then,  through 
control.  He  had  found  control  of  the  red  flames 
that  were  wasting  him.  His  love  for  Verne — that 
was  a  blue  flame  burning  steadily,  cheerily,  heart- 
warmingly  within  him.  The  true  love  of  Verne  was 
what  he  wanted — what,  please  God,  he  was  going 
to  have. 


I 


KNOCK-OUT  CHAMPION  259 

Automatically  he  made  replies  to  the  waxing 
joviality  of  Currie  and  young  Metcalf.  A  third, 
a  fourth — even  a  fifth  of  the  toasts  proposed  he 
afterward  remembered  responding  to  in  good  part. 

His  attention  was  once  recalled  by  a  jocular  ques- 
tion of  Currle's  anent  the  new  location  of  the  still. 
Anxiety  held  him  lest  Sandyred  should  be  won  suffi- 
ciently by  Currle's  protests  of  friendship  to  reveal 
the  new  hiding-place,  but  held  him  only  momen- 
tarily.    His  own  thoughts  were  more  absorbing. 

Odd  that  he  should  be  making  this  application 
about  blue  flames  when  they  were  the  subject  upon 
which  Tom  Metcalf  was  considered  to  be  obsessed! 
The  old  fox  was  not  half  as  mad  as  he  wished  to 
appear — Parker  had  thought  that  ever  since  he  had 
been  held  prisoner  in  the  jarred  window  frame  of 
the  shack  upon  the  ledge.  Wasn't  the  justifica- 
tion of  this  instinctive  theory  part  of  the  reason 
he  had  bought  the  mountain?  .  .  .  Clear,  strong 
flames  were  all  about — mountain  daylight — a  man's 
self-respect — his  heart's  deep  love  for  Verne.  .  .  . 
Strange  place  to  imprison  them,  In  a  lard-pail  behind 
the  chimney  of  a  mountain  shack!  One  should  be 
careful  running  them  through  the  fingers  not  to  lose 
them — the  blue  flames  of  self-control  and  love  and 
loyalty.  .  .  .  That  pail — he  ought  to  find  it.  He 
ought  to  make  sure  the  lid  was  tight. 

Yet  It  didn't  belong  to  him.  Probably  old  Tom 
had  removed  It  immediately  after  his,  Cal's,  dis- 
covery. .  .  .  Even  If  It  still  were  there,  a  Parker 
would  not  dig  up  another  man's  secret,  like  an  ordi- 
nary pry  or  a  night  thief.  He  had  flames  of  his 
own  to  attend,  lest  his  soul  be  seared  to  ash  by 
the  fires  of  fawn-green  eyes  and  copper  hair.  .  .  . 


26o     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

They  had  burned  away  the  dross  of  his  one-time 
appetite.  .  .  .  His  heart  was  now  ablaze,  but  with 
the  controlled  flames  of  the  gas  logs  at  home,  steady, 
intense — and  blue! 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

ANTIC   COLT 

Parker's  awakening  was  accompanied  by  a  series 
of  discoveries,  the  initial  one  being  that  he  still 
lived.  The  second  was  the  heat,  stifling  to  suffoca- 
tion, perhaps  from  the  fact  that  the  roof  lowered 
close  over  him. 

Through  a  paneless  window  could  be  seen  a  hill- 
side whose  occasional  bare  patches  showed  soil  of 
fervid  color.  Above,  the  sky  was  covered  with 
thin  clouds,  like  asbestos,  that  hung  quite  still  and 
radiated  the  heat  of  the  quarter-high  sun  behind. 

It  seemed  to  be  the  first  really  torrid  day  of  the 
summer. 

He  realized  that  he  was  in  great  physical 
discomfort,  his  limbs  cramped,  his  body  oozing 
sweat.  Although  he  yearned  to  go  to  sleep  again, 
his  brain  forbade.  Even  while  the  thumping  with- 
in his  temples  accented  a  conviction  that  he  would 
have  been  more  comfortable  dead,  curiosity  as  to 
the  cause  of  his  unhappy  state  urged  him. 

In  trying  to  move,  to  sit  up,  he  found  that  he 
was  tied  hand  and  foot.  Collapsing  again  upon  his 
springy  resting-place,  he  tried  to  think.  Why  was 
he  lying  on  a  hay-loft,  close  under  cobwebby  rafters 
and  tied  with  ropes?  He  was  Cal  Parker — of  that 
he  felt  sure.  The  circumstance  was  most  unusual. 
But  never  mind.     It  did  not  matter  particularly  at 

261 


262     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

the  moment.  The  chief  thing  was  to  forget  his 
misery,  to  go  back  to  sleep. 

The  second  time  he  roused,  it  seemed  hotter, 
must  have  been  a  good  deal  later.  There  were 
things  he  should  be  doing,  he  remembered  with  a 
start.  There  was  that  lard  pall  of  flames — blue 
flames — which  he  ought  to  find.  And  the  Metcalf 
still — Currle  must  not  be  allowed  to  worm  Its  new 
location  out  of  Sandyred.  Currle  planned —  Just 
what  was  It  the  bootlegger  planned?  Tobe  RIker 
had  told  him.  It  was  something  that  struck  a  chord 
of  vibrant  uneasiness  In  his  mind. 

He  jerked  himself  Into  a  sitting  posture  and  be- 
gan to  Investigate  his  state  of  bondage.  The  knots 
in  the  rope  proved  to  be  of  the  "slip"  variety  and 
yielded  to  his  nervous  manipulation.  Shortly,  he 
found  himself  free.  His  hand  brushed  against 
something  hard  and  cool  which,  on  examination, 
showed  to  be  a  flask  two-thirds  full  of  amber-col- 
ored whisky.  Empty  flasks  were  weighting  both 
side  pockets  of  his  coat.  They  started  him  remem- 
bering other  things. 

Why  had  Currle  assorted  the  liquor  for  the  young 
blockader's  dare?  Why  was  his  amber,  rather 
than  the  Inocuous-looking  white  of  pure  corn  whisky? 
That  peculiar,  bitter  taste  to  It — why  hadn't  he 
recognized  It  In  time?  Of  course  the  stuff  had  been 
doped,  else  those  few  drinks  never  would  have 
knocked  him  out.     Why  had  they  doped  It? 

A  sense  of  loss  caught  him  as  his  hand  lifted  to 
his  cravat.  His  pin,  the  small  amethyst  brooch 
which  Verne  had  hoped  would  protect  him  from 
just  such  temptation,  what  had  become  of  It?  Oh, 
yes,  he  knew  now.     He  had  been  unable  to  take 


ANTIC  COLT  263 

that  first  drink  until  he  removed  it.  Hurriedly 
he  searched  through  his  pockets  and  drew  a  deep 
inhalation  of  relief  when  he  found  it.  Carefully 
he  refastened  it  in  the  brocade  folds  of  his  scarf. 
He  would  never  trust  himself  with  it  off  again. 

In  his  descent  of  the  ladder  that  led  to  the  ground- 
floor  of  the  barn  In  which  he  found  himself,  Parker 
was  steadied  by  a  rage,  primarily  against  himself 
and  growingly  against  those  who  so  successfully  had 
accomplished  his  downfall.  He  had  been  gullible — . 
made  a  fool  by  his  desire  to  convince  the  brother  of 
Verne.  But  there  should  be — there  would  be  a  pen- 
alty for  the  crime  of  drugging  his  drinks  I  Rung 
by  rung,  each  a  stand  of  justification  for  the  resent- 
ment which  was  conquering  his  exquisite  physical 
misery,  he  descended. 

Like  the  "good-morning'*  of  some  tolerant  room- 
mate, a  familiar  whinny  from  a  near-by  stall  greeted 
him.  Teetotaler  here?  In  whose  barn  was  he, 
then,  sequestered? 

From  the  door,  he  looked  out  over  the  kitchen 
garden  that  distinguished  the  Hotel  Plott.  So — 
his  horse  had  been  untied  from  the  hitching-rack 
and  stabled  suggestively  with  him.  To  judge  by 
the  sun,  it  must  be  about  lunch-time.  Probably 
Sylvia  and  her  mother  were  Inside  the  house.  Prob- 
ably they  had  a  very  poor  opinion  of  him.  But  that 
didn't  matter  much;  in  fact.  It  might  help  In  the 
difficult  favor  he  had  Intended  to  ask  of  Sylvia 
last  night  and  would  make  occasion  to  ask  now. 

Sandy But  he  was  Verne's  brother.    Currie 

he  would  reckon  with  first.  Perhaps  some  excuse 
would  show  up  for  Sandyred. 

He  turned  back  to  his  horse. 


264     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

"Tee,"  he  remarked,  *'you  see  me  for  the  first 
time  mad — fighting  mad." 

The  piebald  looked  him  over — ^but  with  his  blind 
eye. 

As  rapidly  as  possible,  Parker  saddled,  then  rode 
toward  the  kitchen  door.  A  pan  of  dishwater, 
soused  to  the  ground,  heralded  the  appearance  of 
Mrs.  Plott. 

'Tou  have  come  to?"  she  inquired  superfluously. 
"Spencer  Pope  said  to  leave  you  where  you  were, 
that  the  haymow  was  as  good  a  resting  place  as  any. 
'Light  and  come  in.  I'll  warm  over  the  coffee  for 
you." 

At  her  suggestion,  Parker  realized  anew  his  con- 
dition. 

"Thank  you,  but  I  don't  feel  like  breakfast." 

"I  reckon  you  don't."  The  hoot  was  all  out  of 
her  voice.  It  trailed  dismally  as  she  added: 
"  'T  wouldn't  have  been  my  way  to  put  the  wets  off 
guard — it  wasn't  exactly  what  we  hoped  from  you." 

"Was  I,"  he  asked,  "pretty  bad?" 

'^Badf^  She  cheered  visibly  under  remembered 
horrors.  "Friend  Parker,  you'll  never  be  forgot 
hereabouts.  You  was  what  the  natives  call  an  *antic 
colt.'  Nobody  sees  as  how  you  could  be  an  officer 
now,  what  with  your  right  hand  aiding  your  left  in 
dashing  out  the  jewel  of  consistency." 

"Nor  I,  Mrs.  Plott.  Now,  what  I  want  worse 
than  my  breakfast  is  a  talk  with  my  friends." 

"Your  friends?"— blankly. 

"Yes.  Spencer  and  the  Brainards.  Are  they 
in?" 

Another  rush  of  words  delayed  the  truth.  "Oh, 
you  poor,  misused  boy!    To  think  that  she  would 


ANTIC  COLT  265 

leave  them  drag  her  away  from  you — and  she  your 
affianced  bride !  Land  knows,  I  did  my  best  with 
Mrs.  Bralnard  to  explain  that  a  strong  spiritual 
purpose  lurked  behind  your  weakness  of  the  flesh. 
But  I  couldn't  sway  their  purpose,  although  Miss 
Bralnard  cried  her  pretty  eyes  most  out  when  I 
told  her  how  disappointed  you'd  be  when  you  came 
to  over  her  desertion.'* 

*'You  mean  that  they '*    It  was  Parker's  turn 

to  look  blank. 

"Have  gone,  bag  and  baggage.  I  could  cry,  too, 
every  time  I  recollect  the  look  of  that  sweet  Miss 
Sylvia.  When  I  asked  her  just  at  the  last,  should 
I  give  you  any  message,  *Tell  him,  good-by,'  says 
she.  Then  she  shivered,  hot  as  It  was  already,  and 
covered  her  little  white  face  with  her  veil.  Spencer 
promised  to  send  down  two  officers  to  your  aid  with- 
out delay.  By  the  time  they  arrive,  you'll  likely  be 
all  ready  to  lead  the  raid,  although  why  you  felt 
called  upon  to — well,  to  do  what  you  did " 

She  stopped  In  her  consolatory  outpouring  for 
want  of  an  object.  The  tail  of  the  horse  was  swish- 
ing around  the  corner  of  the  house.  Automatically, 
he  had  lifted  his  hat,  his  face  twisting  Into  a  stiff 
Imitation  of  the  Gal  Parker  smile  that  belonged  with 
the  act. 

In  truth,  he  was  reduced  to  automatism  by 
the  blow.  They  had  gone  and  he  had  not  made 
that  statement,  dictated  by  past  Parkers,  to  Sylvia ! 
Why  had  she  cried  on  leaving  If  not  because 
she  still  cared  enough  for  him  to  feel  personal  shame 
in  his  disgrace?  The  fact  that  she  had  cried,  she 
whose  life  had  all  been  laughter,  hurt  and  obligated 
him. 


266     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

He  must  follow  them  to  New  York  and  settle 
the  questions  once  and  for  all.  He  must  not  yield 
to  the  temptation  of  speaking  first  to  Verne.  He 
could  not  afford  to  have  the  jeers  of  the  fossils 
hurled  at  him  for  the  rest  of  his  life  because  he 
had  slumped  from  the  high  standard  set  by  them. 
He  had  endured  their  stinging  rebukes  so  long  over 
his  Intemperance,  he  did  not  Intend  to  furnish  them 
with  another  cause  of  complaint. 

And  yet He  frowned  at  the  mental  adden- 
dum. He  could  not  leave  the  Blue  Ridge  just  now, 
even  briefly.  There  was  Currie  to  be  dealt  with  and 
advisedly.  There  was  the  arrival  of  those  prom- 
ised officers  to  be  anticipated.  After  the  last  bum- 
bllngs  were  disposed  of  and  Verne  and  her  people 
were  safe — then  It  would  be  time  enough  to  follow 
Sylvia  and  ask  release. 

Evidently  Teetotaler  missed  his  rider's  wonted 
bridle  control,  for  several  times  he  shifted  course 
through  trying  to  discover  by  backward  glances  the 
cause  of  the  laxity.  By  the  time  the  master  had 
come  to  a  decision  on  his  personal  difficulties,  the 
mount  had  made  his  way  inside  the  fair  grounds  and 
stood  waiting  to  be  hitched. 

Parker  accommodated  him.  His  interest  aroused 
by  the  crowd  around  Sandyred's  refreshment  booth, 
he  strode  that  way.  The  text  of  a  sort  of  chant 
raised  In  the  African  tones  of  Cotton  Eye  Lee 
reached  his  ears. 

"Step  right  up,  ladles  and  genulmen.  Buy  a 
sandwich  and  see  the  only  antic  colt  In  captivity. 
The  greatest  show  on  earth,  begun  at  the  dance  last 
night,  Is  being  circumscribed  within  the  walls  of  this 
here  tent.     Land  sakes  alive,  fellow  citizens,   are 


ANTIC  COLT  267 

you-all  going  to  hang  back  when  the  show  costs  noth- 
ing extraditional?  This  here's  a  real,  gov'ment- 
broke  colt,  anticking  around  with  the  blood  of " 

He  stopped,  but  not  from  shortage  of  wind  or 
enthusiasm  in  his  delirium  of  words.  For  a  mo- 
ment he  returned  his  variegated  stare  into  that  of 
the  man  offering  him  a  dime.  Unintelligibly  he 
mumbled,  while  lifting  a  hand  to  tweak  his  own 
ebony  ear,  as  if  to  make  sure  that  he  was  awake 
and  not  seeing  a  "ghost."  Recovering,  he  took 
the  coin,  handed  over  a  sandwich  and  resumed  his 
barking  with  what  sang-froid  he  could  assume. 

Although  Parker  pulled  his  hat  well  over  his 
eyes,  his  garb  was  too  distinctive  for  others  not  to 
recognize  him.  The  soft  pedal  was  put  upon  the 
crescendo  of  laughter  around  him  and  his  way  was 
made  easy  to  a  vantage-view  through  the  tent  en- 
trance. 

Within,  an  orchestra-stand  had  been  impro- 
vised of  an  overturned  box  and  a  keg.  Upon  the 
latter  squatted  Abide-with-me  Shortoff,  engaged  In 
*'beating  straws" — a  local  device  for  aiding  the  fid- 
dler In  marking  time,  wherein  a  stout  broom-straw  is 
whanged  upon  a  string  of  the  violin.  On  the  box 
sat  the  musician,  his  heels  seconding  the  work  of  his 
hands  by  timely  and  effective  kicks  against  the  sides, 
as  the  tune  merged  from  "Sourdough  Mountain" 
to  a  jerky  conception  of  "Old  Black  Joe."  The  fact 
that  this  wielder  of  the  bow  was  Rex  Currle  proved 
to  be  Parker's  one  gratifying  observation. 

His  gaze  settled  upon  the  artist  being  advertised 
afresh  by  the  word-obsessed  barker  as  a  "reg'lar 
stem-twister  of  mimicry — the  plumb  liveliest  colt 
what  ever  took  off  the  antics  of  a  foreigner  from 


268     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

New  York  town.'*  His  physical  sufferings  gave  way 
to  mental  ones  as  he  watched. 

His  wildest  impulse — that  primal  one  of  self- 
protection — was  to  rush  the  tent  and  with  the  brute 
force  of  his  rage  put  a  stop  to  this  amusement  of 
the  public  at  his  expense;  his  tamest  was  to  slink 
away  and  spare  himself  the  humiliating  spectacle. 
He  mastered  both.  Sternly  put  was  the  reminder 
that  no  fair-minded  man  refuses  to  see  himself  as 
others  see  him. 

Through  the  performance  he  came  to  appreciate 
why  Sylvia  could  contribute  only  tears  to  the  tragedy 
of  his  "reform."  Long  before  the  end  of  the  act 
he  had  the  knowledge,  not  the  mere  hope,  that  he 
would  never  again  risk  a  first  drink,  no  matter  how 
excused  by  Its  "object."  The  self-respect  exhorted 
by  his  dear  defense  before  her  court  of  hills  hence- 
forth should  be  held  above  all  else. 

His  subconsciousness  roused  to  a  recognition  of 
himself  when  drunk  beyond  the  mercy  of  a  doubt. 
*^Mea  culpa  ^  me  a  culpa  T*  pled  the  conscious  mind 
which,  for  the  first  time,  really  understood.  The 
forehead  of  his  pride  beat  the  dust. 

In  pantomime,  that  language  which  the  least- 
lettered  can  understand,  Sandyred  Metcalf,  the  In- 
imitable, revived  the  scene  of  the  out-Norther's  yes- 
terday. He  greeted  his  city  guests  with  drink-ef- 
fusive gallantry  and  undertook  to  escort  them 
through  the  ways  and  byways  of  the  carnival.  With 
a  flask  In  either  pocket  and  frequent  stops  to  accept 
the  Invitation  of  their  open  mouths,  he  conducted 
early  events  with  the  exaggerated  Importance  of  the 
Inebriate.  Imaginary  acquaintances  along  the  way 
he  greeted  and  recontaended  by  introduction  to  his 


ANTIC  COLT  269 

friends.  A  mythical  flight  of  stairs  he  undertook, 
only  to  stumble  and  sprawl  on  the  ground. 

Rising,  he  reproached  the  two  bottles  with  winks 
and  varied  facial  contortions,  denoting  that  his  sense 
of  humor  had  not  been  jostled  in  the  fall.  He  ad- 
dressed a  street  audience  on  prohibition,  with  sig- 
nificant if  somewhat  uncertain  gestures  toward  re- 
ward in  the  ether  above  and  doom  in  the  earth  below. 
As  a  quip  to  the  supposedly  riotous  applause  over 
this  farce,  he  passed  his  two  flasks  before  beginning 
the  bows  of  acknowledgment  which  eventually  dis- 
turbed his  equilibrium  to  the  extent  of  another 
sprawl. 

He  came  to  evening  and  the  dance.  Evidently 
he  had  passed  from  the  early,  weakling  stages  of 
a  Gal  Parker  spree  into  that  condition  of  strength 
and  Initiative  which  would  carry  him  through  hours 
of  activity,  for  not  one  minute  of  which  he  could 
account  after  he  had  slept  off  the  effects.  Wound 
up  now  by  the  grip  of  the  drug  Into  a  thing  of  ex- 
travagant Impulse  and  machinelike  prowess,  he  Im- 
provised a  dance  that  combined  Oriental  suggestive- 
ness  with  a  down-South  clog. 

Sipping  anon  from  the  pocket  fonts,  his  good- 
humor  became  drowned  In  an  oncoming  wave  of 
irascibility.  Presumably  challenged  by  some  swain, 
he  forsook  "art"  for  a  brawl  and  battled  drunkenly 
until,  overcome  by  superior  numbers,  he  was  thrown 
and  roped. 

There  he  lay,  spitting  the  dust,  blubbering  in  vain 
appeal  for  some  one  to  convoy  the  bottle  within  his 
captive  hand  to  his  lips.  His  tongue  lolled,  his  eye- 
lids grew  heavy  over  rolling  eyeballs.  It  became 
evident,  as  licensed  by  the  speed  of  the  "act,"  that,' 


270     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

sans  fuel,  the  fires  within  him  were  burning  down 
to  the  ash  of  exhaustion.  Soon,  with  features  un- 
pleasantly snarled,  he  slept. 

The  performance  thrown  in  with  a  sandwich 
was  over;  most  of  the  spectators,  rousing  above  the 
restraining  presence  of  the  man  In  the  doorway, 
uproariously  applauded  the  young  genius  who  had 
impersonated  him. 

A  few  glanced  around  hopefully  to  see  how  the 
original  antic  colt  was  going  to  take  it. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

COME  TO   GRIPS 

But  Parker  did  not  reward  the  curious.  He  be- 
took himself  from  the  scene  as  unobtrusively  as  he 
had  come. 

The  small  gratification  drawn  from  the  presence 
of  Currie  in  Sandyred's  side-show  was  due  to  an 
obvious  deduction.  Since  the  hillbilly  was  there  he. 
could  not  be  "projecting"  elsewhere  for  the  removed 
still  and  the  girl  over  whose  possession  he  seemed 
to  have  some  definite  scheme.  It  was  enough  that 
his  presence  in  Dismal  gave  Parker  time  to  clear  his 
head  and  body  from  the  poison  he  had  drunk,  be- 
fore demanding  the  payment  It  was  now  his  turn  to 
collect. 

With  evening,  from  Fallaway  Rim,  he  lifted  de- 
vout eyes  to  the  juror  hills  and,  his  right  hand  up- 
raised, again  took  the  oath: 

*'0h,  nature's  jury,  hear  one  more  mortal  plea! 
If  again  I  blunder  In  my  testimony,  may  you  fall 
upon  me  with  your  might,  may  you  crush  me  with 
your  weight  of  ages,  forever  and  ever.    Amen." 

The  peace  of  their  absolute  justice  came  over  him 
and  soothed  him  into  heavy  sleep.  The  first  tiptoe 
of  dawn  did  not  surprise  him.  Already  he  was 
awake,  his  mind  settled  over  what  first  to  do.  The 
most  direct  course  to  aid  the  Metcalfs  seemed  to 
be  in  a  renewal  of  his  effort  at  an  alliance  with  them. 

271 


272     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

In  view  of  his  spectacular  acceptance  of  young 
Sandy's  challenge,  he  had  new  argument  to-  ad- 
vance. He  would  Insist  himself  Into  "terms"  with 
the  household.  That  It  was  the  third  time  ought  to 
help.  He  would  offer  anew  to  lend  them  manpower 
in  the  disposal  of  that  last  "batch."  Working  with 
them,  he  could  watch  over  Verne — could  warn  them 
with  personal  force  against  trusting  Rex  Currle, 
should  the  Impressionable  Sandyred  try  to  reinstate 
his  hillbilly  friend  In  the  good  graces  of  the  old 
man.  Speed  In  getting  the  lawbreakers  beyond  dan- 
ger of  arrest  should  be  his  first  concern.  Afterward, 
he  would  demand  recompense,  with  compound  In- 
terest, for  the  personal  Indignities  he  had  suf- 
fered. 

The  hour  that  found  him  In  the  saddle  was  one 
which  often  had  served  as  an  end  to  days  of  his  past 
— never  as  a  beginning.  Riding  at  a  good  pace 
along  the  road  to  the  Metcalf  place,  he  felt  signifi- 
cance In  the  fact  that  Summer,  In  mature  beauty,  had 
redeemed  the  profuse  suggestion  of  Spring. 

He  was  nearing  trall's-end  In  the  out-curving  turn 
of  the  main  road,  where  the  mountain  girl  had  sur- 
prised him  that  day  of  the  presentation  of  the  jug, 
when  the  sound  of  hoof-beats  on  either  side  caused 
him  to  dismount  and  draw  his  horse  Into  conceal- 
ment. 

The  first  sight  from  his  cover  brought  temptation. 
It  was  of  Verne,  riding  her  mule,  her  expression 
fresher,  more  vigorous  than  the  early  morn.  He 
wanted  desperately  to  hurry  forward  in  greeting 
after  the  long  deprivation,  to  ask  her  about  the  re- 
turn of  his  note  unread — perhaps  to  let  her  guess 
from  his  face,  although  she  was  not  yet  to  hear,  the 


COME  TO  GRIPS  273 

hammering  of  his  heart  at  the  sudden,  vivid,  desira- 
ble sight  of  her. 

His  second  glance  in  the  other  direction  brought 
restraint.  A  horseman  had  been  about  to  round 
the  curve,  but  now  turned  into  the  woods,  evidently 
to  let  her  pass,  himself  unseen. 

So  it  came  about  that  a  small  procession  of  three 
riders  was  formed  and  headed,  through  devious 
ways  and  byways,  toward  that  mountain  known  as 
Grumbly  Bald.  On  account  of  the  exact  distances 
maintained,  the  last  of  them  had  the  advantage  of 
knowledge. 

Because  Rex  Currie  saw  fit  thus  surreptitiously 
to  trail  the  girl  of  his  choice,  the  out-Norther  saw 
fit  to  follow  both.  Half  an  hour  later,  a  fourth 
rider  found  cause  for  uneasiness  in  the  manifold 
hoof-prints,  as  he  followed  closely  the  path  of  the 
three. 

Vernaluska  Metcalf  had  started  ahead  of  her 
men-folk  because  of  her  anxiety  to  delay  not  an  hour 
longer  than  necessary  the  completion  of  their  last 
illicit  distillation.  The  sooner  it  was  attended  the 
better.  Then,  too,  the  new  site  of  the  still  made 
unconventional  hours  the  safest. 

Sandyred  had  returned  from  the  carnival  some- 
what after  midnight  in  such  high  spirits  that  he  had 
awakened  the  family  to  tell  of  the  alleged  slick's  fall 
from  responsibility,  his  own  side-show  of  the  antic 
colt,  and  the  substantial  sum  accrued  from  the  mer- 
chandising of  his  talent.  Although  realizing  that 
the  boy  would  wish  to  lie  late  abed,  she  had 
prepared  his  breakfast  with  her  own  and  finally 
succeeded  in  arousing  him  to  her  need  of  his  help 


274     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

at  the  still.  After  the  bead  had  been  drawn,  she 
promised,  he  might  sleep  away  the  rest  of  the 
day. 

Her  father's  caprice  had  ruled  In  the  selection  of 
the  new  danger-spot — a  move  made  advisable  by 
his  open  break  with  Currle  and  pointed  by  the  ra- 
tional note  from  one  so  strangely  persistent  in  try- 
ing to  blind  them  if,  indeed,  he  was  their  foe.  Early 
on  the  morning  following  the  receipt  of  Parker's 
warning,  the  natural  cave  beneath  the  girl's  pottery 
storehouse  had  been  stripped  of  all  distilling  ap- 
paratus, and  the  hole  in  the  rocks,  which  had  carried 
the  smoke  of  so  many  illicit  fires  up  through  the 
chimney  of  her  oven,  had  been  filled  with  clay.  With 
Vernaluska  scouting  the  road  ahead  and  Sandy  rid- 
ing guard  behind,  Old  Tom  had  accomplished  re- 
moval to  the  hastily  built  structure  that  was  wait- 
ing on  the  Grumbly  Bald  property,  to  be  his  when 
the  additional  payments  had  been  made. 

After  finding  a  sheltered  place  for  Solomon  and 
tying  him  to  a  tree,  the  girl  removed  her  shoes  and 
stockings  and  made  her  way  up  the  bed  of  the 
stream  which  left  no  tracks  for  prying  eyes.  Just 
before  reaching  the  windowless  shack  on  the  ledge 
she  turned  into  the  rhododendron  thicket  along  the 
opposite  side,  which  had  been  selected  as  the  likeliest 
hiding-place. 

A  hee-haw  from  Solomon  caused  her  to  pause  and 
strain  her  ears  for  sounds  foreign  to  the  purl  of 
the  brook  or  the  whispering  of  trees.  Hearing 
nothing,  she  reassured  herself  that  the  mule's  salute 
was  no  respecter  of  persons  and  that  the  disturb- 
er, if  human,  was  doubtless  her  sleepy-head 
brother.      She  proceeded  to  the  task  which  she  had 


COME  TO  GRIPS  275 

taken  upon  herself  to  allow  the  old  man  a   rest. 

The  still-house  itself  was  a  mere  enclosure  of 
freshly  cut  logs,  roofed  with  bark.  It  held  the  still 
— a  vessel  with  a  closed  head,  connected  with  a 
spiral  tube  called  a  "worm"  and  surrounded  by  a 
jacket  through  which  cold  water  was  constantly 
piped;  also  the  furnace,  roughly  constructed  of 
boulders. 

The  purpose  of  the  "house"  was  more  to  con- 
ceal the  glare  when  a  wood  fire  was  burning  than 
for  the  protection  of  the  blockaders  from  the 
weather.  Further  back  lay  the  "lair,"  a  thatch  of 
browse,  where  the  operators  rested  when  there  was 
nothing  to  do  except  wait  upon  the  "cooking." 

Several  precautions  against  discovery  had  been 
taken  by  the  outlaw  patriarch,  alive  to  all  the  wiles 
of  his  kind.  Two  great  hemlock-trees  had  been 
felled  in  such  a  way  that  their  tops  served  to  aid 
the  brush  in  the  masking,  a  service  which  they  would 
perform  as  long  as  their  tops  remained  green. 

Around  the  whole  was  a  dead-line  of  peculiar 
Blue  Ridge  construction — a  veritable  cheveaux  de 
frise,  although  to  the  Metcalfs  known  as  the  "stop- 
'em-short" — contrived  of  laurel  cut  into  spikes,  en- 
tangled, with  the  points  slanting  outward,  in  brush 
bound  together  by  cables  of  wild  grape  and  vining 
shrubs. 

In  the  making  of  this  batch,  sworn  to  be  Old 
Tom's  last,  the  corn  had  been  sprouted  by  a  warm- 
water,  percolating  process,  ground  into  sweet  meal 
at  their  own  tub-mill,  turned  into  "beer"  after  due 
fermentation,  and  sent  through  the  still,  to  come  out 
as  "singlings."  This  was  now  being  redistilled,  or 
"doubled,"  into  marketable  liquor. 


276     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

The  fact  that  the  doubling  process  required  more 
skill  than  any  of  the  several  connected  with  the 
making  of  blockade  accounted  for  the  girl's  anxiety. 
Too  much  distillation  would  result  in  pure  alcohol, 
while  too  little  meant  rank  liquor  that  would  lack  the 
strength  necessary  to  quench  regional  thirsts.  Al- 
ways had  Old  Tom  Metcalf  scorned  to  resort  to  a 
*'thumplng-chest,"  by  which  singllngs  may  be  made 
drinkable.  He  despised  that  trick  of  his  Illicit  trade 
as  much  as  he  did  the  sort  of  liquor  thus  produced. 
With  a  small  vial  as  Instrument,  the  "bead"  must 
now  be  taken  at  Intervals — the  test  depending  on  the 
irrldescent  bubbles  that  would  rise  when  the  vial 
was  tilted. 

Vernaluska  felt  quite  equal  to  the  delicate  task, 
but  needed  some  one  to  feed  the  furnace;  therefore 
her  awakening  of  last  night's  celebrant.  The  Met- 
calf store  of  "bumbllngs"  had  been  quite  exhausted 
in  the  draft  upon  it  caused  by  the  general  cessation 
of  the  industry  after  enforcement  of  the  new  State 
laws.  Knowing  the  contracts  which  the  old  man  had 
undertaken  to  fill  and  the  iron  of  his  determination, 
she  realized  that  his  illegal  career  would  not  cease 
until  the  present  distillation  was  run  off  to  his  fancy. 

She  set  to  work.  Although  it  was  said  of  her 
redoubtable  parent  that  he  could  make  the  best  bush 
whisky  in  all  the  Carolinas  with  his  eyes  shut,  her 
double  task  of  taking  the  bead  and  feeding  the  fur- 
nace would  give  her  plenty  to  do.  She  had  stooped 
to  tuck  the  ends  of  a  bundle  of  dry  saplings  over 
the  coals  in  the  fire-box,  when  the  sound  of  voices 
not  far  away  caused  her  to  return  them  to  the  floor 
and  straighten  Into  a  tense,  listening  attitude. 

"What  new  cuss  work  are  you  up  to,  Currie?'* 


COME  TO  GRIPS  277 

**A  brand  that's  going  to  get  cusseder  if  you 
don't  stop  in  your  tracks  and  have  it  out  with  me.'^ 

She  heard  the  two  sentences  complete  in  two 
voices  she  knew.  Her  heart  hammering  uncomfort- 
ably, she  stole  on  soundless  bare  feet  out  of  the 
still-house  and  began  wriggling  through  the  brush 
toward  the  branch,  whence  had  sounded  the  demand 
and  retort.  Her  anxiety  lest  the  still  had  been  dis- 
covered was  assuaged  on  seeing  that  those  who  had 
been  following  her,  whether  knowingly  or  on  affairs 
of  their  own,  had  passed  the  rhododendron  copse 
without  suspicion  and  climbed  the  stream  to  the 
ledge  on  which  stood  the  deserted  Currie  shack. 
Well  under  cover,  she  picked  her  way  to  a  point 
from  which  she  could  both  see  and  hear. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

DRILLED 

Vernaluska's  handsome  suitor  had  turned  to 
face  Calvin  Parker,  standing  with  dripping  puttees 
at  the  streamside.  The  Northerner  was  breathing 
hard,  his  cap  stuffed  into  a  pocket  of  his  Norfolk, 
his  black  hair  disordered  by  the  wind.  His  right 
hand  was  guarding  his  hip;  his  left  carried  a  heavily 
leaved,  forked  branch  which  evidently  he  had  used 
as  a  cane  In  the  climb.  He  looked  angry — more 
forceful  than  the  girl  ever  had  seen  him. 

"Why  are  you  following  me — don't  you  realize 
yet  Tve  got  it  In  for  you?"  The  sneering  demand 
came  from  Currle. 

"And  hasn't  It  occurred  to  you  yet  that  Fve  got  it 
in  for  yoii?  I'd  advise  you  to  about-face  and  make 
yourself  scarce!" 

"Gad  a'mighty,  you've  got  a  nerve!  Me  make 
myself  scarce  at  your  say-so  ?" 

"My  say-so  is  good  on  this  property.  I  hold  a 
mortgage  that's  going  to  prevent  you  bothering  oth- 
ers on  it.  Get  off  hopping  quick  or  I  may  ask  you  to 
pay  what  you  owe  me." 

"Owe  you?  I  don't  owe  you  anything,  ex- 
cept  " 

"Oh,  yes,  you  do — a  wring  of  your  neck  for  every 
pellet  of  shot  in  that  man-trap  you  set  and  every  drop 

278 


DRILLED  279 

of  dope  you  put  Into  my  drinks  at  the  Dismal  Gap 
Fair." 

Currle,  his  eye  on  the  Northerner's  right,  guff- 
awed his  derision.  "Me  pay — to  a  goop  what  don't 
nose-whiff  his  demljack  before  he  swiggles  It!  Be- 
sides, I  gave  you  fair  warning — told  you  to  look 
out  for  me,  didn't  I?  You  didn't  come  up  here  trail- 
ing me  so  much  as — well,  somebody  that  don't  fa- 
vor the  foolest  revenue  slick  that  ever  fell  for  bum- 
bli:  igs  and  buckeye." 
^•'So  you  admit  the  buckeye?" 

'Tm  admitting  nothing  except  that  you'd  best 
kit-caboodle  It  out  of  here  yourself,  Mr.  Calvin  A. 
Parker,  of  New  York,  before  I  get  you  packed. 
I'll  give  you  two  minutes  to " 

^'You'll  give  me — all  the  time  I  want — or  else  I've 
made — a  wash-foot  Baptist  of  myself  for — for  noth- 

ing. 

Parker's  rasped  remarks,  his  forward  spring,  just 
as  the  hiilbllly,  with  a  lightning  movement,  drew 
from  his  hip,  the  lashing  sound  of  the  impro- 
vised cane — all  were  incidents  of  the  next  second  or 
so. 

The  watcher's  stifled  outcry  went  unheard  In  the 
report  of  a  gun.  She  collapsed  to  her  knees,  weak 
from  terror  and  almost  Instant  relief,  on  seeing 
Currie's  revolver  flung  by  that  forked  branch,  thick 
with  leaves,  Into  the  stream.  Parker  was  laughing 
into  the  face  of  the  man  he  had  confused  and  dis- 
armed by  his  unexpected  onslaught. 

"Never  shoot,  myself,  unless  It's  necessary,  being 
no  killer  at  heart.  And  I'm  hard  to  hit,  even  for  a 
real  gunman.  You  ready  to  settle  with  me  now? 
See,  I'll  give  you  an  even  chance !" 


28o     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

With  which  Parker  tossed  his  own  automatic  after 
Currie's  Into  the  creek. 

In  the  very  second  of  this  voluntary  disarmament, 
Currle  sprang  at  him,  vociferating  In  fury:  "You've 
gone  and  done  It  now,  you  varmint,  taking  my  gun 
a  second  time.  I  came  up  here  this  morning  for  two 
things.  You're  one  of  them.  You're  going  to 
pay " 

"Always  glad  to  pay — my  debts.  Nobody  has  to 
dun  me — twice." 

In  contrast  with  the  mountaineer's  fury,  the 
Northerner  sprang  Into  the  fray  with  cheer.  As  If 
from  some  previous  incarnation,  the  fighting  tactics 
In  which  the  Parker  of  college  days  had  excelled 
revived  in  this  comparative  wreck  of  later  years. 
The  vitality  he  had  breathed  In  from  the  hills  rushed 
to  his  aid.  The  moral  punch  of  a  just  cause  en- 
thused him.  Compound  Interest  on  the  several  at- 
tacks of  the  hillbilly  bought  up  his  long-maintained 
repression. 

More  than  safe-guarding  the  still  made  the  girl 
under  cover  of  the  brush  linger  In  her  part  of  au- 
dience. Now  that  their  weapons  were  In  the 
creek  they  had.  Indeed,  an  equal  chance,  she  told 
herself. 

Although  Currle  had  great  strength,  the  city  man 
had  shown  before  that  he  knew  what  he  was  about. 
He  had  said  he  Vv^as  as  good  a  man  as  Currle,  whom 
she  had  come  to  dislike  and  fear  of  late.  As  a  sort 
of  justification  for  her  many  defenses  of  him,  she 
hoped,  with  all  the  primordial  savagery  of  her 
mountain-bred  ancestresses,  that  he  might  prove, 
not  merely  as  good,  but  the  better  man.  After 
Sandy's  lurid  account  of  his  weakness  at  the  carnival, 


DRILLED  281 

she  wished  fiercely  that  he  should  now  show 
strength. 

Parker,  thrown  off  by  sheer  man-weight,  tight- 
ened his  muscles  for  a  new  offensive.  Currie  lunged 
to  meet  it.  Again  they  closed,  the  artist  feathering 
into  the  bootlegger  with  tempered  fury,  aided  by 
admirable  foot-work.  Currie,  solid  In  his  resist- 
ance as  the  mountain  Itself,  showed  inartistic  but 
effective  tendencies.  In  a  second-long  interval  of 
recovery,  he  seized  the  New  Yorker  in  a  bearlike 
clutch,  threw  him  heavily,  battered  his  head  upon 
the  ground  until  there  came  a  stain  of  blood. 

*'Now,  maybe  you'll  trail  up  here  after  my  doney- 
gal — maybe  you'll  snatch  my  gun!" 

In  the  moment's  respite,  Vernaluska  started  for- 
ward to  prevent  further  brutality,  but  paused,  shaken 
between  hope  and  fear.  She  saw  Parker  spring 
from  his  feint  at  exhaustion  and  go  at  the  moun- 
taineer as  thought  the  combat  had  only  begun.  With 
jabs  and  swings,  systematic,  well-directed,  and  so 
diverse  as  to  confuse  the  man  of  muscle  sans  science, 
he  Invited  and  then  fought  off  ponderous  rushes. 
Dodging  skilfully,  his  effort  was  plain — to  wear 
down  the  other  and  becloud  his  judgment. 

Evidently  encouraged  by  the  honor  of  first  blood, 
now  streaming  from  a  cut  over  the  artist's  left  eye, 
Currie  continued  his  bull  tactics  and  stood  up  well 
under  punishment.  Despite  his  natural  tenacity, 
however,  he  In  time  found  himself  giving  way — 
backing  toward  the  far  side  of  the  ledge,  where  there 
was  a  sheer  drop.  That  he  had  reached  the  limit 
'of  safety  he  was  told  from  an  unexpected  source. 

"The  edge^ — have  a  care  for  the  edge!" 

Vernaluska's  cry  startled  both,  but  the  advantage 


282     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

went  to  Parker,  the  quicker  of  mind.  As  his  adver- 
sary lunged  forward,  he  planted  himself  for  a  swing. 
Currie,  in  trying  to  slip  under  this  and  at  the  same 
time  escape  the  menace  of  the  edge,  lost  his  footing 
and  sprawled. 

Full  weight  Parker  dropped  upon  him  and  strove 
for  a  wrestling  hold  which  would  bring  him  to 
terms.  Currie,  in  the  violence  of  his  attempts  to 
squirm  from  under,  seemed  to  lose  his  sense  of  direc- 
tion. Before  he  recovered,  he  was  going  over  the 
bank;  in  panic  released  his  hold  on  his  opponent  for 
the  flimsier  one  of  rocks  that  gave  way  at  his  weight. 
With  an  upward  glare  at  Parker  safe  on  the  bank, 
he  started  down  and  down. 

Hurrying  back  toward  the  creek,  with  the  Idea  of 
locating  the  source  of  that  warning  cry,  Parker 
stopped  to  wash  the  cut  over  his  eye  and  the  blood 
from  his  face.  Imagining  that  he  had  seen  a  flut- 
ter of  alien  green  disappearing  In  the  brush,  he 
splashed  down-stream  eagerly. 

*'HI — If  you  turn  in  there  I'll  drill  you!" 

This  threat  In  a  man's  voice,  brought  Parker  up 
short  on  the  bank.  For  several  seconds  he  stood 
rigid,  wondering  whether  It  really  had  come  from 
below  him,  assorting  each  noise  of  brook  and 
breeze.  Concluding  that  his  ears  must  have  deceived 
him  as  to  direction  and  that  the  unarmed  hillbilly, 
having  climbed  back  to  the  ledge,  was  attempting 
a  ruse,  he  laughed  tauntingly  and  started  Into  the 
brush. 

But  something  stinging  hot  stopped  him.  While 
falling,  he  realized  several  things.  His  ears  had 
been  right;  the  gun  report  had  come  from  below. 
From  out  the  bush,  a  woman's  scream  wavered,  to 


DRILLED  283 

the  sound  of  running  feet;  Sandyred  Metcalf 
splashed  up  the  branch,  a  smoking  revolver  in  hand, 
a  delirium  of  exultation  twisting  his  face. 

"So  you're  the  damn  spy  everybody  said,  after 
all?  Well,  you  can't  say  I  didn't  warn  you — you've 
got  none  to  blame  but  yourself!" 

The  fierce  words  scourged  the  ears  of  the  fallen 
man.     Verne's  face  lowered  close  to  his. 

"You,  Sandy — you  aimed  to  drill  him?"  he  heard 
her  ask. 

"Did  I  aim  to?  Do  you  s'pect  I  was  popping  at 
a  boomer?" 

Her  moan  lifted  over  the  lighter  nature  plaints. 
"Sandy,  you've  gone  and  killed  him.  He  was  mean- 
ing to  be  friendly,  and  now  you're  gone  and  killed 
him!" 

For  the  life  of  him,  Parker  could  not  reassure 
her.  He  felt  a  rush  of  gratitude  for  the  grief  she 
was  showing.  Then  he  gave  up  to  whatever  It  was 
soothing  his  sensibilities. 

Vernaluska  set  herself  to  do  what  was  possible, 
demanding  the  cooperation  of  her  brother. 

"I  only  aimed  to  nip  him,"  that  young  hot-head 
about-faced.  "He  was  heading  straight  for  the  still- 
house,  wa'n't  he?  It's  only  what  pap  would  have 
done.  Shucks,  sis,  he  ain't  dead — I  had  no  Inten- 
tion such.    He  can't  be  dead!" 

i     The  girl's  lips,  as  well  as  her  face,  had  turned  to 
a  pale  saffron  and  worked  stiffly. 

"Give  me  your  knife;  I'll  cut  away  his  shirt.  Go 
to  the  still-house  and  fetch  a  pail." 

It  was  when  she  stood  mid-stream,  scooping  up 
the  clearest  water,  that  she  fancied  she  heard  re- 
treating steps  In  the  bush  of  the  opposite  side. 


284     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

*'Rex — Rexey!"  she  called. 

"For  a  moment  she  waited,  shaking  as  if  she  were 
some  tar-heel  dame  from  the  lowlands  suddenly  "ail- 
ing" with  chills  and  fever. 

Catching  the  contagion  of  her  fear,  Sandyred 
rushed  to  the  stream-side.  "Rex — hi,  Rex,  be  that 
you?" 

The  only  answer  either  of  them  got  came  later, 
after  they  had  "toted"  the  deadweight  of  Parker 
to  the  mountain's  base.  This  lay  in  the  absence  of 
Currie's  horse. 

"You  make  a  dash  for  home,  Sandy,"  was  her 
decisive  command.  "Send  along  Tom  with  the  buck- 
board.  The  sooner  you  go  on  the  dodge  the  better. 
Rex  is  no  friend  of  any  of  us — he's  gone  to  squeal 
on  you." 

She  stood  staring  in  the  direction  her  brother 
had  disappeared  until  long  after  the  hoof-beats  of  his 
horse  were  silenced  by  distance.  Then  she  turned  and 
knelt  beside  the  silent  Thing  on  the  ground — ^the  pro- 
fessed friend  whom  the  bite  of  Sandy's  gun  had 
made  so  unresponsive.  She  lifted  and  smoothed 
back  the  black  hair.  With  trembling  finger-tips  she 
pressed  downward  the  white  lids  over  eyes  which 
looked  too  dark  and  brilliant.  Her  gaze  settled, 
as  if  hoping,  on  the  tight-pressed  lips. 

"Sending  Sandy  on  the  dodge  don't  mean  that  I'm 
going  to  give  you  up  yet  a  while,  not  until  I  have 
to,"  she  addressed  him  in  a  hovering  murmur.  "I've 
been  too  tarnal  hard  on  you.  I  didn't  know  until 
to-day  how  hard  and  I  hanker  to  tell  you  so.  Don't 
you  want  to  hear  me  tell  you,  Parkerman?" 

She  slipped  her  hand  inside  his  slashed  silk  shirt 
to  a  place  well  below  the  small  red  splotch  she  had 


DRILLED  285 

found  beneath  his  shoulder.  She  waited  a  moment, 
then  forced  a  seductive  smile. 

*'You-uns  said  I  was  strong  to  help  you.  You 
painted  me  as  Spring.  Are  you  going  back  on  that 
now?  Ain't  you  ever  going  to  call  me  Verne  again? 
Ain't  you  ever  going  to  smile  at  me  in  your  different 
way,  like  as  if  you  were  too  tired,  almost,  to  smile 
at  all?  I  don't  mind  telling  you  its  more  than  fear 
for  Sandy  makes  me  want  you  to  rouse  up.  I'm 
Spring  and  I'm  still  here.  Won't  you  come  back, 
Cal?"  _ 

Her  pseudo-smile  faded  from  not  being  seen;  her 
coaxing  voice  broke  from  going  unheard — sobbed 
down  into  the  wordless  whisper  of  a  wail.  Then,  as 
if  terrorized  by  her  own  despair,  she  urged  him 
anew: 

''Come,  come,  won't  you  rouse  up  just  long 
enough  to  hear  me?  I  want  you  to  hear  me  so — 
can't  you  rouse  up  for  Verne?" 

She  pressed  her  hand  gently  upon  his  heart  to 
warm  it;  leaned  so  close  that  her  lips  touched  his  and 
her  breath  did  for  two.  It  seemed  to  her,  as  she 
waited,  that  the  trees  stopped  their  whispers  and  the 
birds  their  chatter — that  even  the  stream  was 
breathing  deep  and  rythmically  with  her. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

THE   BLUEST   FLAME 

The  "spare-room''  bed  of  state,  built  of  home- 
felled  timber,  boasted  both  headboard  and  foot- 
board, as  well  as  four  hand-carved  posts.  Beside  it, 
In  a  low  rocking-chair,  sat  Vernaluska  Metcalf,  as 
she  had  sat  the  greater  number  of  hours  since  Calvin 
Parker  had  been  "toted  in"  the  day  before. 

It  was  nearly  noon  and  he  still  lay  in  the  trance- 
like sleep  which  mercifully  had  claimed  him  before 
and  since  he  had  undergone  Miss  Emmy's  ministra- 
tions. That  good  spinster,  stoic  from  adopted  moth- 
erhood's experience  with  splinter-lifting,  bruise-heal- 
ing and  bone-setting,  had  found  and  extracted  the 
bullet  from  his  shoulder;  had  cleansed  and  skillfully 
bound  the  wound;  had  declared  that  her  patient  had 
"a  chance." 

The  girl,  almost  prostrated  with  relief  when  the 
fluttering  at  his  heart  had  answered  her  desperate 
recall,  had  been  glad  to  let  the  older  woman  take 
charge  of  the  case;  but  no  nurse  ever  had  followed 
orders  more  carefully  than  she.  With  clock-tick 
regularity  the  prescribed  stimulant  had  been  ad- 
ministered and  the  cold  packs  changed. 

Now  hope,  strong  in  her  heart,  was  expressed 
In  the  murmured  tune  she  was  picking  from  her 
duclimer.  Soft  almost  as  thought,  the  music  seemed 
to  soothe  him,  rather  than  disturb.    The  rested  look 

286 


THE  BLUEST  FLAME  287 

had  deepened  on  his  face,  and  he  breathed  easily. 
Soon  she  dropped  the  instrument  Into  her  lap  and 
leaned  forward  to  throw  back  the  "company"  cover- 
let. Beneath  it,  almost  lost  In  the  sea  of  white 
clothing,  the  artist's  long  body  stretched  quite  still; 
his  face  looked  white  as  the  linen  by  contrast  with 
his  black  hair.  Fearing  an  Increase  in  his  tempera- 
ture from  the  noon  heat,  she  crossed  to  the  window 
and  pinned  the  centers  of  the  blue-print  side  curtains 
over  the  dimity  ones. 

"What  was  the  name  of  that  piece?" 

She  turned,  startled  as  though  the  weak  voice 
had  sounded  from  another  w^orld.  Her  heart  stood 
still.  The  moment  was  almost  too  much  to  endure. 
Swiftly  she  recrossed  to  the  bedside.  The  lids  which 
she  had  touched  so  despairingly  at  the  mountain 
base  had  lifted,  his  intense  eyes  looked  sentiently 
into  hers. 

"Why — why,"  she  stammered,  "it  is  called  'Pull 
the  Mule.'  " 

"Dedicated  to  Solomon,  I  suppose?" 

Joy  over  his  small  attempt  at  levity  limbered  her 
tongue.     "My  mule  don't  need  pulling,"  she  flashed. 

She  sat  down,  leaned  toward  him.  After  all  they 
had  been  through,  he  physically,  she  mentally,  it 
seemed  strange  to  be  speaking  commonplaces. 
Could  it  be  possible,  she  wondered,  that  he  did  not 
realize  who  had  shot  him? 

"I'm  right  glad,"  she  said  softly,  "that  you-all 
are  better.  You  can  never  know  how  glad.  But 
that's  enough  for  now.  You  mustn't  talk  or  even 
think,  and  you'd  best  mind  me.  I'll  play  a  rocking 
song;  you-uns  just  listen  and  maybe  you'll  fall  off 
to  sleep  again." 


288    FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

'*But  I  don't  want  to  fall  off  again.  A  fellow 
asleep  is  at  an  awful  disadvantage.  I'm  afraid  I've 
missed  a  lot  already.  That  banjo-harp-guitar  effect 
you've  been  playing " 

He  started  to  stretch  his  hand  toward  the  dulci- 
mer, but  winced  from  the  sudden  pain  of  movement. 
When  he  spoke  again: 

"Sandy — where  is  he?  I  want  to  ask  him  why 
he  did  it." 

He  put  the  question  with  his  eyes  shut,  so  did 
not  see  the  instant  tension  of  her  face  at  this  proof 
that  he  did  remember. 

"Sandyred — oh,  he's  around,  I  reckon,"  she  re- 
plied. 

For  a  while  he  lay  in  silence.  She  slowed  down 
the  lullaby  until  it  was  scarcely  audible,  hoping  he 
had  been  forced  by  weakness  to  take  her  suggestion 
of  falling  asleep. 

His  next  words,  however,  showed  that  he  had 
been  thinking:  "I  fixed  it  up  before  your  court  of 
the  hills;  convinced  even  the  judge.  I  want  to  kncT, 
does  my  counsel  believe  in  me  yet?" 

The  noise  of  a  horse  arriving  in  the  yard  diverted 
her  answer.  Startled,  she  arose,  laid  the  dulcimer 
on  the  bed  and,  with  her  lithe,  boyish  swing  of  the 
open,  hurried  from  the  room.  The  door  she  closed 
behind  her. 

At  the  front  step,  her  father  was  greeting 
Asa  Simms.  The  transplanted  Yankee  noted  the 
girl's  appearance  with  but  a  nod,  his  manner 
excited. 

"I've  nearly  winded  a  good  horse  riding  ahead 
to  warn  you.  That  traitor,  Currie,  has  tipped  off 
the  sheriff,  and  there's  a  posse  headed  this  way — ' 


i 


THE  BLUEST  FLAME  289 

Dry  Dryden  and  a  bunch  of  his  Ilk,  along  with  Dr. 
Prosch." 

"What  for,  do  you  reckon?"  The  old  red  lion  of 
the  Metcalf  clan  drew  up  bristling. 

"What  for?  Well,  only  just  to  clap  a  pair  of 
wrist-irons  on  Sandyred — that's  all!  Crime,  mur- 
der.   Victim,  a  revenue  officer." 

Old  Tom  reached  for  and  began  to  examine  the 
repeating  rifle  that  had  been  leaning  against  the  door 
jamb.     "Irons  on  my  Sandy — hell's  banjer!" 

"Lay  off  the  gun,  Tom."  Vernaluska  placed  an 
urgent  hand  upon  her  parent's  arm.  "There's  noth- 
ing to  arrest  Sandy  for.  If  they're  thinking  to 
charge  that  he  committed  the — the  accident.  It  won't 
hold.     Parker's  going  to  get  well." 

The  postmaster  looked  surprised.  "Glad  to  hear 
that  for  your  sakes  If  not  for  the  slick's.  Rex  report- 
ed him  dead  as  a  doornail.  But  this  posse  can  grab 
the  fellow  that  plugged  him  and  hold  him  for  as- 
sault with  Intent  to  kill.  All  they  need  Is  the  rev- 
enuer's  accusation.  If  It  happens  he  knows  who " 

The  girl  didn't  wait  to  hear  the  old  man's  angry 
denial  that  his  son  had  been  anywhere  In  the  vicinity 
at  the  time  of  the  shooting.  She  made  a  brief  visit 
to  the  room  shared  by  father  and  son,  after  asking 
Miss  Emmy  to  "do  up  a  quick  poke  of  grub.'*  With 
her  two  parcels,  she  hurried  to  the  barn,  saddled 
Sandy's  mount,  and  rode  to  the  patch  where  she 
knew  him  to  be  hoeing  corn.  She  did  not  consult  or 
advise;  rather,  she  commanded  him. 

"He's  come  to,  Sandy — he  knows  who  potted  him. 
See  to  it  you  keep  on  the  dodge  until  I  give  you  leave 
to  show.  No  Metcalf  has  ever  worn  wristlets,  and 
it  ain't  fitten  this  generation  should  set  the  style.'^ 


290    FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

Scarcely  had  she  turned  from  the  sight  of  his 
disappearance  within  the  brush  that  led  Into  the  fast- 
ness of  Crumbly  Bald,  every  hollow  and  by-path 
of  which  he  knew,  when  she  heard  the  approach  of 
what  sounded  a  goodly  cavalcade  entering  the  clear- 
ing from  the  other  side. 

Unseen,  she  returned  to  the  house  through  the 
cook-shack  door  and  loitered  out  on  the  front  stoop 
just  as  the  posse,  headed  by  "Gettum"  Stannard,  the 
wiry,  black-browed  sheriff,  drew  rein.  A  detach- 
ment composed  of  Dry  Dryden  and  that  con- 
queror of  the  deepest  root  and  most  fractious  nerve, 
Dr.  Hezeklah  Plott,  proceeded  at  a  sign  from  their 
leader  to  the  back  yard,  evidently  to  guard  against 
escape. 

"Well,  Asa,"  drawled  the  county's  small  but  re- 
doubtable chief  peace  officer,  "be  you  delivering  the 
United  States  mail  in  person  these  days?" 

Without  awaiting  a  reply,  he  turned  his  celebrated 
official  smile  upon  Old  Tom.  "We-all  have  come  to 
invite  your  boy  Sandy  to  a  little  visit  down  to  the 
jail  at  the  county-seat." 

The  patriarch's  gaze  veered  from  the  reassuring, 
fawn-green  eyes  of  his  daughter  to  meet  that  of  the 
official. 

"That's  mighty  polite  of  you,  Gettum,  but  our-all 
corn  needs  Sandy  for  the  hilling.  What's  the  spe- 
cial occasion?" 

"The  special  occasion" — Stannard  spat  deliber- 
ately and  far  before  finishing — "is  murder  in  the 
first  degree.  It  ain't  the  charge  I'd  cal'calated  on 
taking  one  of  yourn  on,  Tom,  but  I  reckon  it  will  hold 
as  good  as  any.  We'll  try  to  give  the  boy  as  com- 
fortable a  time  as  can  be " 


THE  BLUEST  FLAME  291 

"Mighty  polite  of  you,"  Tom  repeated,  with  no 
particular  change  of  expression.  "Won't  you-all 
light  and  come  in?" 

"You  bet  we  will,  since  Dr.  Prosch  intends  to  take 
back  the  body  as  well  as  him  what  laid  it  low.  The 
first  and  likeHest  place  to  search,  we're  agreed,  is 
this  house." 

The  hint  of  a  twinkle  flashed  in  Tom's  eyes. 
"You're  welcome.  We-all  are  right  proud  of  our 
house.  Doubt  if  you'll  find  what  you're  looking  for, 
although  there  is  a  particeps  criminis  critter  inside 
that  may  do  as  well." 

Cordially  he  gestured  the  two  into  the  living- 
room  and  invited  their  attention  to  its  objects  of 
interest — the  decorative  frieze  of  the  newspaper 
wall-covering,  the  solidity  of  a  table  now  serving 
the  fourth  generation,  the  inherited  Metcalf  leaning 
toward  art  as  represented  by  Vernaluska's  jugs. 

The  girl,  sensing  his  idea  in  this  game  of  delay, 
played  a  hand  of  her  own.  She  brightened;  chatted 
first  with  one  and  then  the  other;  conducted  them,  as 
if  on  a  pleasure  tour,  through  the  dining-room, 
kitchen,  and  family  chambers.  A  tuneless  twanging 
it  was  that  focused  the  visitors'  suspicion  upon  the 
one  closed  door. 

"Sandyred!"  m.uttered  Stannard,  clamping  a  mas- 
terful hand  on  the  knob.  Stealthily  he  opened  the 
door  and  crossed  the  sill. 

Dr.  Prosch  followed,  his  dimpled  fists  doubled  to 
aid  in  any  emergency. 

After  them  came  Vernaluska,  her  heart  hurting 
with  anxieties,  both  for  the  man  who  was  within 
and  him  who  was  not.  Miss  Emmy,  Asa  Simms 
and  Old  Tom  brought  up  in  the  rear. 


292     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

Just  within,  they  all  stopped  short  from  varied 
causes. 

The  eyes  of  the  man  on  the  bed  dilated,  glanced 
among  them. 

"Parker — alive?'*  Sheriff  Stannard  rasped. 

*'Why,  yes,  I  think  so."  That  Cal  Parker  smile 
which  yesterday  Vernaluska  had  invoked  in  vain, 
wavered  around  one  corner  of  his  mouth. 

"But  with  a  near-fatal  wound  on  him  somewhere, 
which  it  is  my  professional  duty  to  examine."  The 
pudgy  practitioner  recovered  from  the  situation's 
crux  and  strutted  toward  the  patient. 

"Thank  you,  but  I  have  a  doctor  and  a  nurse.  I 
am  satisfied — don't  wish  to  change." 

The  sheriff  had  hectored  away  his  surprise  by  a 
noisy  clearing  of  his  throat.  He  now  showed  him- 
self prepared  for  anything. 

"I  feared  worse  results  from  this  attempt  on  your 
life,  Mr.  Parker. 

"Attempt  on  my  life?" 

"You  need  not  fear,  brother  officer  of  the  law, 
that  the  guilty  can  escape  the  justice  of  Gettum  Stan- 
nard, at  your  service,  any  more  than  if  you'd  ac- 
tually been  finished.  All  you've  got  to  do  is  to  ac- 
cuse; /  do  the  rest.  I  await  your  word,  sir,  to  do 
my  duty." 

The  little  official  drew  himself  up  and  scowled 
effectively. 

"But  what  duty?"  Parker  spoke  somewhat  irrita- 
bly. 

"To  arrest  the  ruffian  that  drilled  you,  likewise 
all  that  aided  and  abetted.  I  get  'em,  try  'em,  pun- 
ish 'em — according  to  Hoyle  and  Blackstone.  Don't 
you   fear  that  we're   outnumbered,    for  my   posse 


THE  BLUEST  FLAME  293 

awaits  without — the  house  is  completely  surrounded. 
In  view  of  your  daring  service  to  the  community  and 
State,  this  here  attack  on  you  had  ought  to  be  made 
a  horrible  example  of.  We  have  the  word  of  a  com- 
petent eye-witness,  but  we  want  your  declaration." 

In  the  pause,  silence  tortured  the  seconds.  Miss 
Emmy,  despite  her  nerve-control  at  the  recent  opera- 
tion, was  trembling.  Simms's  eyes,  seeing  In  imagi- 
nation the  last  demijohn  of  his  most  profitable  "in- 
side goods"  turned  upside  down,  shifted  from  face 
to  face.  The  grin  had  deserted  Old  Tom's  weath- 
ered countenance,  the  chuckles  his  throat.  And  Ver- 
naluska 

She  felt  she  could  not  endure  to  look  at  him  whose 
life  they  had  saved  for  this  debacle,  yet  she  could 
not  look  away.  When  she  saw  his  lips  begin  to 
move,  It  seemed  she  must  scream  to  silence  his 
words,  but  she  listened  with  dread  Intensity.  She 
must  not  resent  his  statement  of  facts,  slhe  re- 
minded herself;  she  must  be  fair.  He  owed  them 
nothing,  not  even  their  care  of  him,  since  a  life  dear 
to  them  must  be  paid  for  his  life.  He  had  reason  to 
hate  her  brother  besides  that  of  the  mountain  attack, 
if  all  Sandy  had  told  of  the  carnival  was  true.  She 
had  witnessed  his  resentment  against  Currie  for  the 
*'doctoring"  of  the  liquor  he  had  drunk — how  much 
more  ruthless  it  must  be  against  Sandy  who,  as  she 
understood,  had  pressed  It  upon  him! 

Yesterday  she  had  called  him  back  from  the  bor- 
derland with  the  cry  of  her  heart.  Through  his 
flaccid  lips  she  had  poured  her  own  life-breath,  with 
no  thought  but  for  the  unutterable  loss  of  him.  Had 
she  let  him  cross  over,  had  she  remembered  In  time 
her  Influence  over  Currie,  another  explanation  of 


294     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

the  accident  might  have  been  invented  and  estab- 
lished— Sandy  might  the  more  easily  have  been 
saved.    And  yet,  she  could  not  regret.    And  yet 

Prosch  had  limbered  his  throaty  tones: 

*'Don't  hesitate,  Parker  of  the  Revenue,  don't 
you  ever  hesitate !  You  will  be  amply  protected, 
wounded  though  you  be.  I  myself  will  stay  here 
with  you  until  you  are  strong  enough  to  move,  pro- 
vided the  sheriff  will  leave  a  special  guard.  Name 
the  name  of  the  man  that  shot  you  down." 

"Tom  Metcalf " 

Parker  raised  his  head  slightly  as  he  spoke;  start- 
ed to  turn  toward  the  door;  at  once  collapsed  from 
the  pain  of  the  attempt. 

A  low  moan  escaped  Vernaluska,  as  she  crossed 
to  the  bedside. 

"Not  my  pappy!  No,  no,  Cal,  you  don't  dast 
name  my  pappy!" 

"The  old  stiller  himself,  eh?  Thank  God — at 
last!" 

"Thank  me!" 

The  last  two  exclamations  punctuated  a  scuffle  at 
the  door.  Instigated  by  Prosch  and  the  official  of  sig- 
nificant sobriquet. 

"That's  right,  bring  him  closer,"  said  Parker 
weakly.  Trying  somewhat  ineffectually  to  smile  up 
at  the  girl,  he  added:  "I  just  wanted  to  make  sure 
he  was  among  those  present." 

Elation,  as  well  as  his  black  mustache,  decorated 
the  sheriff's  face  when,  with  revolver  drawn,  he  pro- 
duced and  started  to  manipulate  a  pair  of  handcuffs. 

"Suffering  possums,  what's  this  all  about?"  de- 
manded the  trapped  lion  in  a  bellow. 

"Just    a    minute,    I'll    explain."      Obviously   the 


THE  BLUEST  FLAME  295 

wounded  man  was  making  an  effort  to  rise  above  his 
condition,  to  command  his  voice.  "Nobody  is  to  be 
arrested.  You  have  been  given  a  false  report,  sher- 
iff. I  know  who  made  it.  It  was  a  scoundrel  who, 
for  reasons  of  his  own,  would  like  to  get  the  Met- 
calfs  into  trouble.  I  guess  you  can  take  my  word 
against  that  of  a  bootlegger,  can't  you?" 

"But  what  is  your  word?  Don't  fear  to  tell  the 
truth.  Somebody  must  have  shot."  Stannard  flour- 
ished his  gun  by  way  of  reassurance,  the  bracelets 
dangling  disappointedly  in  his  other  hand. 

"Fear?  I  should  say  not!  The  accident  came 
from  a  quarrel  of  my  own  with  Rex  Currie.  I  tried 
to  take  his  pistol  away  from  him  and  It  went  off  In 
the  scrap.  The  Metcalfs  really  saved  my  life.  They 
are  my  friends.  I  feel  sort  of  played  out.  Would 
you  mind  excusing  me  now?  Thank  you  for  coming, 
sheriff.     Glad  to  have  met  you.  Dr.  Prosch." 

When,  a  moment  or  so  later,  the  dismissed  aven- 
gers were  filing  out  the  door,  the  weary  voice  trailed 
after  them.  z 

"And,  say,  for  the  love  of  peace  and  quiet,  for- 
get this  revenue  stuff !  As  I  said  from  the  first,  Fm 
not  an  officer — have  no  connection  with  the  gov- 
ernment. I  am — just  Cal  Parker — private  citizen 
— minding  his  own " 

The  brilliant  eyes  had  drooped  from  utter  exhaus- 
tion when  Vernaluska  sank  to  her  knees  at  the  side 
of  the  bed.  A  question  asked  awhile  back  demanded 
answer. 

"I — we-all  believe  at  last,"  she  murmured.  "We 
do  believe." 

Old  Tom  leaned  toward  the  two  from  the  foot- 
piece  of  the  bed.     His  voice  had  gentled  unbeliev- 


296     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

ably  as  he  said:  "I  just  want  to  say,  Parkenman, 
that  Sandy  didn't  know  your  drinks  were  buckeyed 
tother  day.  He  told  me  so.  The  boy  may  get 
flighty,  but  he  ain't  that  sort  of  a  skunk." 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  that — glad  he  didn't  know." 
The  assurance  was  scarcely  more  than  a  whisper. 

Miss  Emmy's  tribute  was  sobbed  into  her  apron 
as  she  followed  her  brother  and  Asa  Simms  out  of 
the  room. 

The  girl  Vernaluska  maintained  her  lowly  pos^ 
ture  beside  the  bed,  hoping  that  her  patient  had 
passed  into  that  sleep  he  so  sadly  needed,  fearing  to 
disturb  him.     A  sudden  question  undeceived  her. 

*'Verne,  you  are  there?" 

*Tes,  Cal,  right  here.'* 

From  the  remembrance  awakened  by  the  inter- 
change, he  smiled  a  moment  into  her  eyes,  then  again 
the  heavy  lids  dropped.  Despite  the  pain  of  any 
movement  his  hand  stole  out  and  touched  her  head, 
smoothed  It,  settled  on  it.  A  quavering  sigh  sug- 
gested the  reward  he  had  found  In  the  effort,  told 
without  words  how,  ever  since  that  first  day,  he  had 
wished  to  touch  her  hair,  to  realize  Its  beauty  through 
his  sensitive  artist  fingers,  as  well  as  by  sight. 

All  at  once  his  eyes  opened  again  and  blazed  with 
a  look  she  never  had  seen  In  them  before.  His  lips 
moved.  She  leaned  toward  him  to  catch  their  mes- 
sage. 

"They  can't  put  out — the  bluest  flame — that  bums 
— for  you!" 

She  watched  him  anxiously,  hoping,  praying  that 
the  Interview  In  which  he  had  exculpated  her  brother 
had  not  taxed  him  Into  delirium. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

EXTRA  I 

Calvin  Parker  had  become  sufficiently  of  the 
family  to  be  trusted  with  the  secret  of  the  spring- 
wagon  bed.  Otherwise  he  would  have  been  puzzled 
by  the  super-nervousness  of  Miss  Emmy  as  she  bade 
Godspeed  to  her  brother,  to  Vernaluska,  and  to 
Sandyred  one  torrid  morning  two  weeks  after  the 
futile  visit  of  the  Dismal  Gap  law-bringers. 

On  the  face  of  it  there  was  nothing  about  a  jaunt 
over  the  mountains  to  the  nearest  county  town  in 
Tennessee  to  awaken  such  apprehension.  The  roads 
were  said  to  be  rough,  It  is  true,  but  a  broken  axle 
or  wheel  could  be  mended  at  the  roadside  with  no 
other  price  than  delay.  Since  the  little  party  of 
three  intended  to  keep  to  the  highroad,  there  was 
no  danger  of  getting  lost,  even  had  they  not  made 
the  journey  many  times  before.  And,  by  way  of  a 
"swapping"  medium  for  the  household  necessities 
which  they  meant  to  bring  back,  what  could  have 
been  more  innocent  than  the  sacks  of  ginseng  root 
dug  by  the  black  hand  of  Cotton  Eye  Lee? 

"What  you  want  us  to  tote  back  for  you,  Emmy?'' 

Parker  heard  Old  Tom  put  the  question  cheer- 
fully, after  wedging  himself  into  the  seat  between 
Vernaluska  and  his  son,  who  was  to  handle  the 
grays.  \ 

"Your   own   selves,    Tom — just  tote   your   own 

297 


298     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

selves  back  to  me,'*  came  the  good  soul's  reply  in  a 
subdued  sort  of  wail,  her  omnipresent  apron  held 
in  readiness  to  cooperate  with  her  emotions. 

The  next  call  was  aimed  at  the  window  of  the  room 
which  had  served  Parker  through  convalescence. 
*'You'd  calculate  that  we-all  was  going  funeralin\ 
eh,  Cal?  You-uns  will  look  out  for  everything  and 
keep  her  mind  offen  us?  Miss  Emmy  can  worry  a 
power  once  she  gets  started.  Seeing  all  goes  well, 
we'll  be  back  as  long  as  to-morrow-day  noon." 

In  the  light  of  Parker's  understanding,  he  ac- 
cepted this  commission.  When,  however,  he  real- 
ized later  from  her  rejoinders  that  he  could  not  keep 
her  mind  "offen"  the  secret  of  their  vehicle,  he  in- 
vited her  attention  "onto"  it. 

What  could  be  more  clever  than  that  false  bot- 
tom built  into  the  spring-wagon,  he  argued;  what 
more  deceptive  than  the  green  paint  which,  with  his 
facility  at  colors,  he  had  helped  Sandyred  mix  to 
match  the  original  bed,  lately  rebuilt?  Were  not  the 
seams  of  the  Inner  vat  so  carefully  calked  with  yarn 
that  not  a  telltale  drop  of  the  many  gallons  of 
"blockade"  being  escorted  to  market  could  trickle 
through? 

&ut  Miss  Emmy's  mood  continued  morose.  She 
"suffered  under  powerful  intuitions"  that  day,  she 
told  him. 

That  the  three  had  gone  armed  augured  a  fear  of 
trouble  along  the  way.  That  Tom  had  pressed  a 
revolver  upon  Parker,  by  way  of  home  defense, 
suggested  unnamed  possibHitles.  Rex  Currie's  de- 
fection in  the  report  of  the  shooting  continued  to 
oppress  her  mind — Rex,  whom  she  had  "handed 
victuals"  for  so  many  years.     His  Immediate  knowl- 


EXTRA!  .         299 

edge  of  the  workings  of  the  still  and  the  probable 
date  of  completion  of  this  last  batch  hung  like  a 
pall  over  her. 

Vainly  did  the  out-Norther  assume  for  her  bene- 
fit a  confidence  which  he  did  not  feel.  Vainly  did 
he  point  that  the  process  had  been  rushed  to  com- 
pletion hours  ahead  of  time.  The  intense  humidity, 
presaging  a  downpour  which  threatened  the  comfort 
of  her  loved  ones,  he  called  a  good  omen.  Was  it  not 
to  outspeed  the  storm  and  avoid  the  later  delay  of 
muddy  roads  that  the  expedition  had  started  two 
whole  days  earlier  than  at  first  considered  possible? 

The  work  of  clearing  away  all  traces  of  recent 
activity  at  the  mountain  still  might  safely  be  en- 
trusted to  Cotton  Eye.  She  must  not  suspect  that 
everyone  was  a  traitor  just  because  Currie  had  been. 
The  black  man,  he  assured  her,  was  partisan  to  the 
last  volt  of  the  quart  of  "electricity,"  which  was  to 
be  his  bonus  for  a  faithful  discharge  of  the  commis- 
sion. 

Not  a  sound  or  hoof-track  of  surveillance  had 
been  detected  through  the  active  past  week,  he  re- 
minded her,  either  by  Sandy  or  Verne,  who  had  rid- 
den guard  over  the  finishing  process.  The  sacks 
of  roots  should  satisfy  the  curiosity  of  any  one 
met  on  the  road  as  to  the  object  of  the  trip.  Once 
across  the  State  line,  adequate  protection  would  be 
supplied  by  the  *'blind  pigs"  whose  store  was  to  be 
replenished.  This  wholesale,  wagon-bed  traffic  into 
Tennessee,  rather  than  the  retail  bootlegging  of  the 
past,  was  assuredly  a  master  policy.  The  wagon 
itself  was  a  triumph,  the  departure  from  precedent  a 
stroke  to  upset  any  preparedness  of  the  Dismal  Gap 
drys. 


300     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

Miss  Emmy  tried — he  could  see  that — ^but  she 
did  not  cheer.  Through  the  open  door  in  the  living- 
room,  he  could  hear  her  muttering  fragments  remi- 
niscent of  the  hymnal  and  prayer-book  as  she  under- 
took the  task  upon  whose  completion  she  had  set 
her  faithful  heart  by  way  of  surprising  the  family 
on  their  home  return. 

The  finishing  touch  to  their  great  annual  clean- 
ing, perhaps  the  most  terrible  joy  of  mountain  house- 
wives, had  been  postponed  in  favor  of  the  greater 
issue.  Half  re-papered,  the  living-room  had  been 
left  In  a  state  of  negligee  by  the  younger  pair,  to 
whom  was  usually  entrusted  the  fine  art  of  its  deco- 
ration. The  spinster's  devout  utterances  were  now 
and  then  profaned  by  the  vocal  perusal  of  head- 
lines from  this  or  that  newspaper  or  pictorial,  a 
supply  of  which  Sandy  had  procured  for  the 
wall-covering  process  on  his  last  visit  to  the 
Gap. 

Evidently  feeling  the  responsibility  of  supervision 
over  the  night-readings  of  those  advanced  youthful 
minds,  she  puttered  about  among  stacks  of  *'lltera- 
ture";  created,  at  last,  a  selected  pile;  clipped  and 
muttered,  muttered  and  clipped  this  into  convenient 
strips.  In  the  kitchen  she  prepared  a  "wash-hand 
bovv^l"  of  flour  paste,  sopped  into  it  with  the  hearth 
brush  of  wild  sedge;  puffed  from  floor  to  bench  and 
back  again  in  her  neat  applications. 

The  convalescent  found  relief  rather  than  of- 
fense In  her  preference  for  being  alone  with  her  anx- 
ieties, her  prayers  and  her  work.  It  gave  him  a 
chance  to  think  out  certain  personal  issues  which 
had  been  pushed  aside  by  the  one  great  question  of 
the  week. 


EXTRA!  301 

In  the  first  place,  why  had  Verne  driven  with  her 
menfolk  over  the  line  that  day? 

He  knew  she  had  not  intended  to  go,  also  that 
her  company  was  not  desired  by  them  for  reasons 
of  her  own  comfort  and  safety.  Several  times  he 
had  heard  them  planning  the  rest  she  should  have, 
once  the  "bumblings"  were  started  on  their  way. 

Parker  had  noted  her  exhaustion  from  the  phys- 
ical and  mental  overstrain  when  she  had  ridden  in 
from  a  long-hour  day  of  scouting  in  the  saddle. 
Vigorously  he  had  cursed  the  contretemps  which  in- 
capacitated him  from  shouldering  her  task  himself. 
He  had  begrudged  every  hour  to  the  time  when  she 
might  relax,  had  anticipated  the  departure  of  the 
two  men  as  creating  opportunity  for  a  semi-explana- 
tion which  had  come  to  seem  the  most  important 
event  on  his  calendar. 

And  last  night,  during  the  brief  general  gathering 
In  his  room,  which  had  come  to  be  habitual,  the  end 
of  his  near-Arcadia  had  come  so  suddenly  that  he 
could  scarce  realize  he  was  now  without  the  gates. 

Verne  had  announced  and  defended  her  intention 
to  go  along.  She  needed  things,  she  declared — a 
dress,  hat,  some  books — what  not.  Did  they  think 
a  girl  was  satisfied  to  stay  shut-in  forever?  She 
wanted  her  share  of  the  fun  as  well  as  the  work. 
She  had  made  up  her  mind  to  go;  they  ought  to 
know  what  that  meant.    She  was  going  to  go. 

This,  as  a  climax,  had  followed  an  announce- 
ment of  his  own,  dropped  like  a  bomb  Into  Sandy's 
repinings  that  they  were  so  soon  to  be  changed 
from  afiluent  outlaws  into  impecunious  tar-heels — 
these  varied  by  Old  Tom's  sly  Insistence  that  they 
wouldn't  "tar-heel  It  long"  after  he  got  his  flames 


302     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

a-burning.  Once  the  matter  of  that  last  distillation 
had  been  brought  to  a  satisfactory  close,  Parker 
had  said,  he  must  leave  them  for  a  trip  of  his  own 
— a  trip  to  New  York.  At  the  protest  of  his  most 
devoted  admirer,  the  recalled  Sandyred,  he  had  as- 
sured them  that  they  were  far  from  seeing  the  last 
of  him.     He  would  be  back,  and  that  shortly. 

From  the  perspective  of  to-day  he  could  see  the 
cause  back  of  Verne's  sudden  determination.  Her 
suppression  of  any  comment,  her  avoidance  of  his 
eyes,  the  slow  flush  that  had  shown  through  her 
tan,  then  as  slowly  receded,  her  refusal  to  enter  his 
room  alone  when,  early  this  morning,  he  had  called 
her — all  filled  him  with  pain  only  endurable  from  the 
joy  that  throbbed  through  it.  He  had  so  hoped  that 
her  fleeings  had  ceased.  And  this  morning,  dressed 
in  the  organdie  frock  with  lavender  sash  which  she 
once  had  boasted,  its  splendors  protected  by  a  de- 
mure gray  cape,  she  had  run  away — from  him! 

There  could  be  no  doubt  about  it.  Not  one  good- 
by  smile  had  she  directed  through  the  window  from 
under  the  wide  straw  hat,  trimmed  with  roses^  which 
had  made  her  look  so  unusually  lovely. 

Verne  distrusted  him  again — and  this  time  on  a 
subject  which  she  would  not  discuss.  Whether  she 
realized  or  not,  she  must  care  something  for  him, 
else  why  that  pumping  upward  of  her  heart's  blood 
at  mention  of  his  plan  to  go  away? 

Doubtless  she  had  heard  gossip  from  Dismal  Gap 
anent  his  engagement  to  the  recent  fair  visitor — a 
tidbit  of  news  circulated  by  that  medium  more  com- 
prehensive than  the  press.  Mistress  Hootie  Plott. 
She  would  connect  this  with  her  memory  of  Sylvia's 
photograph  and  with  his  assurance  that  she  of  the 


EXTRA!  303 

childlike  expression  was  a  ''woman  grown,"  that  her 
he  respected  above  all  women,  except  for  what  she 
would  consider  the  sake  of  his  "manners" — her- 
self. 

He  could  see  it  all  now.  In  those  first  few  hours 
of  his  recovery,  before  Miss  Emmy  had  been  pressed 
into  the  post  of  substitute  nurse  and  Verne  freed 
for  more  taxing  duties  outside,  she  probably  had 
noticed  the  words  in  his  eyes,  In  the  touch  of  his  hand 
— the  words  he  did  not  speak.  She  had  waited  until 
last  night,  in  the  supposition  that  something  real, 
something  definite  was  to  come  of  his  suppressed 
feeling  for  her.  But  since  his  statement  that  he  was 
about  to  leave  the  region,  she  had  concluded  herself 
the  victim  of  illusion,  him  a  predatory  male. 

If  Verne  had  her  way,  he  told  himself,  he  prob» 
ably  would  not  have  one  private  word  with  her  bee 
fore  he  left.  Well,  he  would  not  go  without  it—* 
that  was  all  I  There  was  not  much  he  could  say 
without  getting  the  whole  host  of  dead-and-gone 
Parkers  and  Calvins  down  on  him.  But  just  one 
little  reassuring  word,  one  last  plea  for  the  benefit 
of  doubt  which  before  she  had  granted,  one  look 
from  his  craving  soul  when  they  were  quite  alone — 
these  he  would  have,  even  though  he  broke  the  let- 
ter of  the  inherited  law.  It  crucified  him  to  have 
Verne  doubt  him  again. 

Fortunate,  he  thought,  that  he  had  formed  the 
habit  early  in  life  of  having  his  own  way !  He  grinned 
every  time  he  remembered  how  he  had  started  out  in 
the  early  morn  of  that  last  eventful  day  abroad, 
driven  by  the  determination  to  "insist"  himself  into 
the  Metcalf  household.  Well,  he  had  done  it,  hadn't 
he? 


304    FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

He  must  get  things  settled,  he  now  adjured  himself 
impatiently;  must  get  Verne  and  himself  started  on 
the  long,  radiant  together-path,  he  to  help  her,  she 
him.  There  need  be  no  delay  about  going  to  Fall- 
away  Rim  to  pack,  since,  several  days  before,  in 
pretended  anxiety  lest  his  friends,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Boomer,  need  food,  and  in  real  anxiety  over  his 
masterpiece  portrait  of  Verne,  he  had  sent  Cotton 
Eye  Lee  on  a  carting  expedition.  Best  of  all,  he  was 
jbeginning  to  feel  fit  physically,  although  that  "drill'' 
of  Sandyred's  had  come  mighty  close  to  the  heart. 
His  convalescence  had  been  rapid  beyond  all  cal- 
culation. He  took  satisfaction  In  his  rallying  capac- 
ity, made  possible  by  his  natural  endowment  of 
strength  and  stamina,  to  a  large  measure  restored 
by  his  comparatively  abstemious  weeks  at  the  cabin. 
Then,  too,  a  man  with  hope  In  every  pulse-beat  had 
every  recuperative  chance  In  his  favor. 

The  wound  had  proved  to  be  a  clean  one,  al- 
though the  variation  of  a  fraction  of  an  inch  In 
Its  placement  would  have  closed  his  life  account 
wath  the  entry  ^'instantly  killed."  Once  the  shock 
of  It  and  of  the  subsequent  probing  operation  was 
over,  once  his  fever  was  spent,  there  had  been  noth- 
ing to  Interfere  with  Its  speedy  closing.  Now  he 
resolved  to  call  upon  the  reserve  battalions  of  his 
will  to  hurry  him  toward  recovery. 

"Miss  Emmy!'' 

Several  minutes  later,  the  summons  brought  the 
spinster  to  the  spare-room  door  and  something  of 
a  shock.  Her  charge,  no  longer  bath-robe  garbed, 
but  fully  dressed,  was  trying  his  strength  back  and 
forth  across  the  room. 

"After  our-all  care  over  you,  that's  no  way  to 


EXTRA!  305 

be  doing,"  she  protested,  advancing  toward  him,  a 
goodly  bulk  of  Indignation.  "Now,  you'd  best  lie 
down  in  bed  awhile  and  rest  up  after '* 

"Never  not!" 

He  grinned  down  at  her,  always  diverted  over 
helping  himself  to  the  dialect  which  had  come  to 
sing  all  the  music  of  the  spheres  to  him. 

"I'm  through,"  he  continued,  "with  all  unseason- 
able use  of  beds  and  bedding — they  weren't  intend- 
ed for  daytime.  The  air's  stifling  in  here  around 
noon.     I'm  going  to  sit  a  while  In  the  living-room.'* 

"Tom  allowed  you-uns  were  a  right  tame  person," 
she  deplored,  "else  he'd  never  have  left  you  in  the 
hands  of  one  weak  woman." 

"But  a  woman  who  is  sensible  and  Is  going  to 
help  me  get  well  in  the  quickest  way.  I  don't  want 
to  take  any  unfair  advantage  of  you,  dear  Miss 
Emmy,  but  you  mustn't  take  advantage  of  me,  and 
It  Is  doing  just  that  to  make  me  stay  In  here  playing 
invalid.  Come,  I'll  enjoy  my  trip  from  this  room 
into  that  so  much  more  if  you'll  agree  with  me ! 
Don't  you  think  It  will  do  me  good  to  have  a  not- 
too-decided  change  of  climate  If  I'm  quiet  and  blatty 
and  lamblike?" 

"Will  you  Bible-oath  It?" 

"Cross  my  heart  and  hope  to " 

"Sh!  Best  not  hope  that  when  we-all  have  just 
done  raised  you." 

"Hope  to  live,  I  was  about  to  say." 

The  Parker  persuasiveness  proved  too  much  for 
a  lady  who  had  spent  the  greater  part  of  her  life 
accommodating  herself  to  the  superior  will  of  two 
young  Insurgents  of  her  own. 

"You-uns  have  got  such  common  ways!"  she  ex- 


3o6     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

claimed,  as  she  bustled  about  the  living-room,  to 
miss  none  of  the  balsam  and  goose-feather  cushions 
in  her  collection. 

Parker  took  no  offense  at  her  expression;  he  rec- 
ognized it  as  a  compliment — her  way  of  declaring 
him  one  of  them. 

Tom's  huge  chair  she  tugged  to  a  place  beside 
the  window.  The  cushions  she  prodded  around  her 
charge  as  he  settled  into  it.  She  stood  off  to  re- 
gard him,  by  some  mental  process  seeming  to  have 
mixed  the  origination  of  the  moving  idea. 

*'So  la,  you  do  look  a  whole  heap  better  already, 
just  like  I  claimed  you  would!  Sit  your  hunkers 
there  and  talk  to  me  while  I  finish  up  this  pasting  job. 
I  must  say  it's  as  sticky  and  slow  as  molass'  in  the 
winter-time,  but  it  will  be  right  smart  of  a  surprise 
to  Verney  to  find  it  finished." 

With  pride  and  anxiety  struggling  for  precedence 
on  her  comely  face,  she  gestured  over  the  wall  lately 
decorated. 

*'A11  of  it  I  got  right  end  up,"  she  continued, 
^'leaving  out  the  picture  of  yon  lady  with  the  out- 
landish hat.  She  has  got  a  right  upset  look.  The 
fine  reading  that  was  printed  around  her,  I  pasted 
nigh  against  the  window.  You-uns  can  read  it  easy 
there,  the  light  comes  in  so  strong." 

She  paused,  noting  that  her  audience  of  one 
seemed  to  be  distracted.  After  giving  that  "upset'* 
picture  a  glance,  he  had  leaned  to  read  the  fine  print 
indicated  as  "nigh  against"  the  window  before  which 
he  sat. 

"Likely  you  would  enjoy  the  news,  being  an  out- 
sider!" she  apologized  for  his  inattention,  more  as 
if  to  herself  than  him.     "One  thing,  it  ain't  never 


EXTRA !  307 

stale,  seeing  as  we-all  house-clean  twice  a  year.  San- 
dy In  partic'lar  ain't  got  no  patience  reading  last 
year's  papers  when  we  might  just  as  well " 

Snatching  the  very  word  with  which  she  stopped, 
Parker  reentered  the  conversation. 

''Well,  I'm  damned!" 

Her  righteous  stare  rebuked  him. 

*'I  mean  I— I'm  blest!" 

His  succeeding  utterances  were  intense  as,  with 
hands  reached  out  to  push  aside  the  curtains  of  pine- 
cones,  he  leaned  down  to  read  toward  the  base- 
board. 

"It's  from  the  Herald.  No  doubt  it's  true.  Say, 
Miss  Emmy,  that  intuition  you  were  suffering  from 
is  right — something  is  going  to  happen!  Can't  you 
stop  them?" 

He  got  to  his  feet  and  strode  toward  her  ex- 
citedly. 

"Stop  them?     Stop  who?" 

"Verne,  Sandy — your  brother!  But  of  course 
you  can't.  There  Isn't  a  telephone  or — or  anything. 
I  suppose  there's  nothing  to  do  but  wait.  My  God, 
I  shall  stifle  from  this  combination  of  heat  and  In- 
activity!" 

Although  not  exactly  relieved,  he  was  diverted 
by  the  sound  of  footsteps  shuffling  across  the  porch. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

SHORT   WARNING 

Abide-With-Me  Shortoff  was  standing  on  the 
door-sill,  peering  in,  the  manner  and  look  of  him 
furtive. 

"You,  Bide?"  Miss  Emmy's  superfluous  remark 
was  none  too  cordial. 

'*Hello,  Shortoff,"  said  Parker.  'Tou  surprised 
us.    How's  the  corn  doing?" 

The  mountain  farmer  crossed  the  room  to  a  stand 
before  his  one-time  neighbor.  There  was  obvious 
excitement  behind  his  somewhat  irrelated  remarks. 

'Tm  watching  it  grow.  Admire  to  see  you-uns 
up  again.  I  left  Sally  hoeing  over  the  hilltop,  but 
she'll  soon  miss  me  and  like  as  not  follow.  It's 
right  hard  having  to  work  with  a  woman,  eat  with 
her,  sleep  with  her — never  get  away.  She's  a  dinged 
sight  worse  than  the  conscience  she  allows  I've  done 
got  along  so  far  without.  But  I'd  best  be  wagging 
my  tongue.  I  be  ready,  Parker,  to  talk  business. 
Have  you  got  some  on  your  hip — some  to  sell?" 

"Some  what,  my  friend?" 

Parker  reseated  himself  and  indicated  a  chair  for 
the  visitor.  But  Bide  seemed  in  no  mood  for  rest. 
He  shuffled  after  the  younger  man  and  leaned  over 
him,  his  fingers  twisting  and  untwisting. 

"You-uns  ain't  got  no  call  to  be  afeard  of  me. 
IVe  come  here  to  pay  you  a  favor  if  you'll  pay  me 

308 


SHORT  WARNING  309 

one  back.  I  got  the  wherewithal  at  last  to  buy  a 
jug  of  the  juice.  Made  it  beating  straws  for  Rex 
Currie  down  to  the  carnival.  Hid  it  in  a  holler  tree 
afore  I  came  home,  so  Sal  ain't  wise.  Tom  knows 
I  ben't  no  dry  at  heart.  As  for  you-uns,  I  was  cer- 
tain sure  from  first  sight  that  you  wa'n't  no  reve- 
nuer." 

He  slunk  one  hand  into  a  side  pocket  of  his  baggy 
jeans  and  suggestively  jangled  a  small  collection  of 
coin. 

"There  ain't  no  time  to  lose."  He  cast  an  uneasy 
glance  toward  the  door.  *'She's  likely  trailing  me, 
I  tell  you.  If  you-uns  got  any  handy,  leave  me  have 
It,  so's  I  can  slip  outen  the  back." 

"And  what's  this  favor  you've  got  to  swap?" 

"The  drys  are  plumb  onto  you.  The  real  revenue 
slicks  have  done  arrived." 

Bide  evidently  thought  direct  thrust  the  speediest 
course  toward  the  end  he  so  devoutly  desired. 

With  a  chirp  as  of  a  menaced  mother-bird,  Miss 
Emmy  sought  a  chair.  "There's  been  premonitions 
using  in  my  head  for  days.  Before  come  the  light 
of  this  morning  I  woke  up  with  a  feeling  that " 

Its  exact  nature  was  bagged  in  her  apron. 

"Real  slicks?"  Parker  started  to  laugh,  then, 
from  certain  crowding  fears  of  his  own,  as  well  as 
from  respect  for  those  of  the  anxious  relative,  con- 
trolled himself.  "How  do  you  know.  Bide?  What 
are  they  going  to  do?" 

"I  squeezed  it  easy-like  outen  Sal.  With  a  peart 
wife  a  married  man's  got  to  lead  a  kind  of  tricky 
life — leastways  he's  obliged  to  if  ever  he  hopes  to 
get  a  few  swigs  on  the  quiet.  Them  new  foreign- 
ers carry  papers  from  the  gover'ment  and  badges 


310     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

and  a  right  smart  say-so.  There's  going  to  be  a 
soon  raid,  and  they've  done  offered  a  reward  to  the 
guide  as  can  show  them  a  short-cut.  This  here  warn- 
ing shows  I'm  wet  all  through,  don't  it?  My  hide 
wouldn't  be  worth  tanning  nohow  if  Sal  caught  me 
giving  it.  Considering  as  how  to-morrow's  going 
to  be  too  late,  will  you  sell  me  that  jug  or " 

*'Your  hide's  worse  than  tanned  a-ready!" 

The  interruption  announced  a  calico  streak  that 
had  slithered  through  the  door  into  their  midst. 
Sally  Shortoff,  woodswoman  and  militant  wife,  de- 
scended upon  her  refractory  mate. 

With  a  shrill  cry  he  so  inappropriately  named 
leaped  for  the  nearest  of  the  several  rear  doors. 
But  he  was  stopped  short  In  the  accomplishment  of 
retreat. 

"Best  wait  a  minute,  Bide — I'm  gunned,  and  a 
powerful  good  husband-hitter  at  that." 

In  view  of  the  shotgun  bearing  upon  him,  Bide 
turned  body  and  mind  to  escape  other  than  by  way 
of  his  legs. 

*'Nobody's  earned  a  better  right  to  shoot  down 
a  man-hound  than  his  own  wife,"  she  commented  in 
tempered  approval.  *'Now  you  step  lively  along 
of  me  and  make  some  fire-wood.  I'll  see  to  it  you 
do  chores  close  to  the  cabin  until  after — leastways 
until  I  say.  Reckon  you  won't  need  a  dose  of  the 
county  jail  along  with  the  rest  of  the  law-breakers 
and  liars — not  after  I  get  through  with  you." 

Judging  himself  referred  to,  Parker  responded 
with  a  pleasantry.  *'And  how  does  our  fair  man- 
tamer  find  herself  this  afternoon?" 

The  outraged  expression  on  her  soda-blscult  face, 
belied  any  generic  weakness  for  flattery. 


SHORT  WARNING  311 

"Able  to  struggle  along  under  the  cross  of  he- 
traitors,  praise  God!"  she  replied,  her  rich  drawl 
crisped.  *'May  He  lam  you  like  you  deserve — He 
knows  I've  got  my  hands  full  with  Bide.  If  I  keep 
my  own  man  dry — and  I'm  aiming  to  or  kill  the  no- 
'count  critter  what  I  took  for  better  instead  of 
worse — I'll  be  entitled  to  my  crown  o'  glory.  All 
I  got  to  say  to  you-uns  Is  you'd  best  break  away  from 
that  Jezebel  Verney  what's  done  sirened  you  while 
yet  there  is  time." 

*'But  my  dear  lady " 

Evidently  she  was  in  no  mood  for  the  Parker 
manners. 

"La,  you  needn't  waste  breath  denying  it!  Just 
have  a  care,  say  I.  This  here  ain't  no  country  to  be 
trifling  with  females,  nohow.  Such  as  ain't  able  to 
look  after  their  own  rights,  gets  'em  looked  after 
by  others,  and  Tom  Metcalf,  if  he  keeps  out  of  jail 
long  enough,  will  have  you  nagging  with  that  she- 
kin  of  his'n  along  to  a  minister  of  the  Gospel  before 
you  can  save  your " 

"Sally  Shortoff,  you  git  up  and  outen  here!'* 

Something  more  threatening  than  the  shot- 
gun faced  the  lady  of  advices — a  fair,  fat 
and  forty  tigress  in  defense  of  her  own. 
"Don't  you  dast  bandy  the  name  of  our  Verney, 
or  I'll " 

"Scant  need  of  my  bandying.'*  The  gangly 
woman  folded  her  arms  against  her  barren  breasts 
as  she  outstared  the  buxom  one.  "All  the  Gappers 
know,  and  likely  all  their  cousins  and  their  second 
cousins  know  what's  been  going  on  up  here.  None 
blames  Rex  Currie  for  leaving  the  pretty  jade  in 
the  lurch.    There's  maybe  more  to  Verney's  smiles 


312     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

than  you  see.  I  got  a  right  to  say  my  say,  for  none 
can  claim  /  ain't  filling  my  virtue  vows." 

To  a  glance  of  Infinite  love  toward  him  she  had 
just  assailed,  she  added  a  command:  "Slope  along, 
now,  you  critter,  what  I'm  going  to  learn,  sure 
enough,  to  abide  with  me!'* 

Bide  "sloped." 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

to-night's  the  night 

Cal  Parker  helped  Miss  Emmy  get  supper  that 
evening,  as  was  fitting,  in  view  of  the  fact  that  he 
consumed  so  much  of  it.  To  get  square  on  his  feet 
— that  was  now  his  greatest  concern.  The  invalid 
role  should  hold  him  not  another  day  or  night. 

With  pity  he  observed  that  the  devoted  soul 
struggled  for  what  cheer  she  showed,  so  heavy  was 
the  weight  of  w^orry  on  her  shoulders.  At  every 
sound  she  started  with  dread  for  what  might  be 
about  to  be,  shivered  from  relief  over  what  was 
not.  So  often  did  her  apprehensive  eyes  con- 
sult the  clock  during  the  long-drawn-out  hours, 
that  many  stitches  were  dropped  in  the  hug-me-tight, 
she  was  knitting  to  fit  the  manly  proportions  of  San- 
dyred.  Her  devoutly  moving  lips  showed  that  her 
attention  was  more  upon  prayer  for  the  safety  of  the 
absentees  than  the  conversation  of  her  patient- 
guest. 

From  Miss  Emmy,  Parker  got  a  better  Idea  of 
what  Verne  must  have  suffered  through  her  recent 
years  of  effort  to  get  the  family  within  the  law 
than  from  anything  the  girl  herself  had  said  or 
done.  In  vain  he  assured  her  that  the  heat  was 
oppressing  her  more  than  any  likelihood  of  catas- 
trophe, that  the  excursionists  into  Tennessee  would 
return  betimes,  with  money  jingling  as  gaily  as  Old 

313 


314     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

Tom's  reiterated  assurance  that  the  newer,  safer 
life  should  start  on  that  day. 

It  was  her  nature  to  rejoice  over  small  mercies, 
she  declared;  yet  she  "Intuited"  that  something  had 
gone  amiss.  The  fact  that  Cotton  Eye  Lee,  sent 
early  In  the  day  to  clear  out  all  traces  of  the  tem- 
porary still,  had  not  returned  by  bedtime  did  noth- 
ing toward  dispelling  these  forebodings.  Neither 
was  she  cheered  by  Parker's  request  that  she  dress 
his  shoulder  with  bandages  which  she  pronounced 
unnecessarily  taut  and  heavy. 

Wontedly  the  earliest  riser  In  the  house,  she  found 
only  a  note  to  greet  her  when,  shortly  after  day- 
break, she  roused  from  a  troubled  sleep. 

Gone  with  Cotton  to  the  clearing  house.  Hope  to  beat 
your  intuitions  back. 

Calvin  Parker. 

One  word  of  this  message  was  fiction.  Parker 
had  not  gone  with  Cotton,  but  after  him.  When 
his  early  investigation  of  the  barn  had  showed  the 
presence  of  neither  the  black  man  nor  the  white 
mule,  he  had  rewarded  the  greetings  of  Teetotaler 
with  a  one-armed  saddle-and-brldle  throw. 

Later,  a  vehement  hee-haw  from  Solomon  pre- 
ceded the  sight  of  the  little  hybrid  tied  to  a  tree  at 
the  base  of  Grumbly  Bald.  The  mule  snorted  and 
jerked  at  his  rope  with  unusual  irritation,  evidently 
having  suffered  there  all  night.  With  nostrils 
a-qulver,  he  seemed  to  be  trying  to  impart  some  com- 
plaint. 

"What's  the  matter,  old  chap?"  Teetotaler's 
whinnies  asked  In  equine  parlance.     "Are  you  just 


TO-NIGHT'S  THE  NIGHT  315 

upset  with  all-overs  after  a  bad  night,  or  are  you, 
Solomon,   really  wise  to   something  gone  wrong?" 

At  least,  thus  Parker  chose  to  interpret  the  ex- 
change. He  gave  the  mule  water  from  the  near-by 
branch,  then  took  both  animals  in  lead.  Turning 
into  the  rhododendron  thicket  at  the  spot  where  he 
had  been  so  unexpectedly  and  so  near-fatally  halt- 
ed on  the  occasion  of  his  last  visit,  he  had  small  diffi- 
culty in  locating  the  improvised  manufactory  of  con- 
traband, as  he  had  since  been  entrusted  with  full 
details  of  the  wood-craft  that  covered  it. 

After  tying  the  animals  outside,  he  stooped  and 
peered  through  what  served  as  doorway.  Beside 
the  temporary,  rock-built  furnace,  lay  the  object 
of  his  search — Cotton  Eye  Lee,  with  arms  out- 
stretched, head  thrown  back,  mouth  agape. 

Parker  reached  the  prone  figure  at  one  bound, 
and  dropped  to  his  knees  for  an  examination — a 
certain  experience  of  his  own  having  fore-place  In 
his  mind.  At  once  he  congratulated  himself  that 
his  right  arm,  grown  incredibly  strong  from  guid- 
ance of  his  wall-eyed  steed,  had  not  been  the  one 
disabled  by  Sandy's  bit  of  lead.  He  gripped  the 
negro's  jumper  and  began  a  jouncing  calculated  to 
recall  to  sensibility  any  one  not  actually  dead.  Ef- 
fect of  this  muscular  alarm  was  slow;  but  eventually 
Cotton  Eye  groaned,  batted  his  lids,  forced  them 
sufficiently  open  for  recognition. 

"Leave  me  be,  you  Infernal  revenuer!"  he  pro- 
tested. "You  ain't  no  call  to  be  grappling  me. 
You're  sick  abed!" 

Naturally  Parker  omitted  to  obey.  "YouVe  the 
one  that's  abed.  Get  up !  You  haven't  started  the 
work  you  were  sent  to  do.     What  do  you  mean — 


3i6     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

lying  around  in  this  condition  when  time  is  so  im- 
portant?" 

Cotton  Eye  sat  up,  a  species  of  indignation  com- 
ing to  the  fore  of  his  lethargy.  "Ain't  every  in- 
ebriated genuFman  got  the  natural-born  right  to 
sleep  it  off?" 

There  was  no  apology  In  this  admission  of  the 
sad  truth.  There  were,  rather,  signs  of  pride  as 
well  as  debauch  in  the  look  of  him. 

*'Where  did  you  get  the  makings  of  a  jag?" 

Parker  put  the  question  in  sincere  perplexity. 
Tom  had  promised  his  dusky  aide  a  quart  of  bum- 
blings,  but  as  a  reward  after  the  task  of  "busting 
up"  had  been  accomplished,  and  had  taken  care  that 
every  drop  of  the  last  distillation  had  been  removed 
beyond  his  reach. 

The  answer  in  words  was  succinct,  but  expanded 
by  a  proudful  grin. 

"Sniffin's!" 

"Sniffings  ?    You  mean  to  say  that  you " 

"That  no  man  needs  drink,  nohow,  w^hen  he  can 
sniff.  Prognosticate  your  head  inside  yon  covered 
tub,  cap'n;  yank  the  top  clost  around;  pull  your 
coat  up  to  stuff  the  cracks;  then  keep  a-sniffin\  deep 
and  long.  There  ain't  no  need,  as  I  can  observate, 
for  the  fumes  to  travel  down  the  throat  and  then  up 
again  to  the  head  when  by  sniffin'  them  strong,  they'll 
go  straight  up." 

Parker  stared  at  the  brazen  propounder  of  this 
discovery,  then  did  sniff  at  the  quandom  container. 
The  strong  reek  of  uncured  liquor  which  assailed 
his  nostrils  supported  the  claim  of  the  black.  With 
a  stem  front,  he  turned  upon  tlie  delinquent,  still 
sitting  his  haunches  with  the  receptive  attitude  of 


TO-NIGHT'S  THE  NIGHT  317 

one  awaiting  congratulations  due  after  the  accom- 
plishment of  something  worth  while  against  great 
odds. 

"I'd  hate  to  be  in  your  shoes  when  Old  Tom  hears 
how  you've  betrayed  your  trust." 

''But  you-uns  can't  tell  him  I've  drunk  anything. 
I  ain't  had  a  nary  drop — only  sniffin's.  Ain't  every 
living  man  judmatically  entitled  to  sniffin's, 
cap'n?" 

Impatiently  Parker  interrupted  the  defensive 
whine.  "Get  your  worthless  body  right  side  up, 
according  to  the  law  of  gravity;  douse  your  befud- 
dled head  Into -" 

The  irrepressible  just  naturally  had  to  interrupt 
because  of  two  words  he  never  had  heard  before. 

"Gravity — gravity,"  he  mumbled.  "Befuddled 
—defud " 

Parker  was  not  to  be  stopped.  "You'll  dip  it 
into  the  pail  of  water  I  bring  from  the  creek  and 
get  yourself  ready  to  help  me  wipe  this  blockade 
factory  off  the  face  of  the  map  before  It's  too 
late." 

His  energetic  start  was  stopped  at  the  door  by 
a  raucous  laugh.  From  the  bush  outside,  Rex  Cur- 
rie  straightened  his  considerable  self,  the  look  of 
the  laugh  on  his  face. 

"It's  too  late  already  for  you,  but  not  for  me," 
he  taunted. 

Parker's  free  hand  flashed  to  his  hip;  he  pulled 
up,  ready  for  the  finish  of  the  iight.  To  his  amaze- 
ment, however,  Currie  made  no  hostile  move,  his 
eyes  busy  with  the  details  of  the  still  house.  All 
of  a  sudden  the  hillbilly's  whole  scheme  flashed 
through  Parker's  brain,  made  him  see  redder  than 


3i8     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

the  buckeye  juice  which  had  reduced  him  to  impulse 
at  the  carnival.  He  forgot  his  wound — everything 
except  the  lust  to  grapple  with  and  destroy  this  moun- 
tain enemy  who  was  always  In  the  way,  whose  am- 
bition was,  through  treachery,  to  gain  the  reward  of 
the  world. 

*'Too  latej,  Currie?  Your  watch  Is  fast — ^It's 
never  too  late  by  mine !"  he  challenged,  and  sprang 
into  attack. 

The  hillbilly,  despite  the  advantage  In  his  favor, 
did  not  meet  the  issue.  Mayhap  he  had  learned 
discretion  of  valor  in  that  other  combat  on  the  cabin 
ledge.  More  likely  he  had  attained  his  object  in 
the  definite  location  of  the  removed  Metcalf  still 
with  the  presence  of  Parker  In  the  role  of  destroyer. 
Assuredly,  If  they  ever  got  Cotton  Eye  to  court, 
they  could  cpunt  on  him  as  witness,  black  weather- 
vane  that  he  was.  Howbelt,  In  a  flash,  Currie  dis- 
appeared Into  the  brush. 

Parker,  not  wishing  to  shoot  unless  necessary, 
followed  close  until  he  saw  his  quarry's  horse  wait- 
ing with  dropped  bridle  on  the  semi-trail  that  led  to 
the  cabin.  Realizing  that,  unmounted,  he  would 
lose  the  race  at  its  start,  he  turned  back  and  put 
himself  to  reach  Teetotaler  In  the  shortest  possible 
time. 

The  chances  were  against  him,  as  he  realized. 
Before  he  was  In  the  saddle,  Currie  must  have 
reached  the  highway.  The  speed  of  his  one-eyed 
mount  was  never  that  of  a  pace-setter,  and  now 
seemed  fated  to  be  retarded. 

At  each  low  growl  of  the  thunder  which  was  In- 
termittently uttering  promises  of  relief  from  the 
heat,  Tee  would  balk,  shudder,  and  essay  a  bolt 


TO-NIGHT'S  THE  NIGHT  319 

toward  the  Metcalf  barn.     It  took  vigilance  and 
a  grip  of  steel  to  hold  him  reasonably  straight. 

Certain  that  Currie  was  on  his  way  to  the  au- 
thorities to  ''turncoat"  on  the  Metcalfs,  Parker's 
mind  was  intolerant  of  the  chances  against  him.  He 
wanted  Currie,  and  drove  his  beast  as  never  be- 
fore. 

Just  once,  as  he  thundered  around  a  curve  In  the 
forest-fringed  road,  did  he  sight  the  family  enemy 
ahead.  Instantly  he  was  reminded  of  the  revolver 
which  Old  Tom,  on  leaving  for  the  trip  across  the 
mountains,  had  pressed  upon  him.  Averse  as  he 
was  to  gun-play,  he  dropped  rein  long  enough  to 
send  several  warnings  ahead.  Although,  as  he  had 
noticed,  Currie  was  armed,  no  reply  barked  back. 

Teetotaler  was  uncommonly  sound  of  wind,  and 
put  the  next  two  miles  behind  him  at  satisfactory 
speed.  This  brought  them  to  the  valley  where  the 
road  straightened  out  to  a  considerable  view. 

Yet  there  was  no  sign  of  the  pursued;  nothing 
animated  except  a  light-colored  team  which  ap- 
proached at  leisurely  gait  along  the  road  that  turned 
Into  the  highway  for  a  final  dip  into  Dismal  Gap. 
To  Parker  It  seemed  Impossible  that  Currie  could 
have  outdistanced  him  so  greatly.  The  driver  of 
the  team  was  a  possible  source  of  Information,  and 
he  spurred  ahead  to  cut  short  the  time  of  waiting. 
On  drawing  nearer,  he  recognized  the  railroad 
stage,  with  Tobe  Riker  on  the  box.  Early  as  It 
seemed  for  the  mail,  he  wasted  no  questions. 

*'Did  you  see  Rex  Currie  cut  past  toward  Dis- 
mal?" he  demanded  as  he  pulled  up. 

*'Nope — hair  nor  hide  of  nobody.  Leastwise, 
not  yet." 


320     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

"Not  yet?     Did  you  expect  to  see  him?" 

^'Wouldn't  have  surprised  me  none.'* 

"Nor  me.  IVe  been  hot  after  him  for  half  an 
hour.     He  can't  have  headed  me  far." 

"What  you  chasing  Rex  for?" 

Something  akin  to  guilt — at  least  of  self-con- 
sciousness— behind  this  question  made  Parker  give 
the  noncommittal  driver  a  sharp  glance. 

"Come  across,  yourself,  Rikerl  Why  did  you 
say  seeing  him  wouldn't  have  surprised  you  any? 
Why  have  you  lashed  your  horses  into  foam  and 
then  slowed  them  near  this  crossing?" 

The  little  whip  scanned  the  horizon,  watched 
a  hawk  in  its  volplaning,  then  delivered  himself  of 
another  enigmatic  reply. 

"  'Pears  like  it's  worth  my  while  to  believe  In 
signs — I'm  chasing  them." 

Parker  left  off  considering  him  In  favor  of  the 
situation.  If  Riker  was  telling  theXnith — and  from 
his  carnival  overture  there  seemed  no  reason  why 
he  should  not — the  hillbilly  must  be  lurking  some- 
where behind  him.  Should  he  ride  further  toward 
Dismal  and  lie  In  wait  or  carry  his  search  back- 
ward? 

"I  got  a  small  passel  of  news  this  morning  that'll 
likely  make  you-uns  set  up,"  the  driver  volunteered. 
"There  come  a  pair  of  sure-enough  revenue  shcks 
to  the  Gap  yesterday." 

"That's  stale  news,"  Parker  snapped.  "I  sup- 
pose that  they,  too,  have  slowed  down,  also  being 
believers  In  signs?" 

The  driver  threw  a  frightened  glance  around. 
"Can't  say  as  I  get  you." 

"I  mean,  Riker,  that  they,  as  well  as  you,  are 


TO-NIGHT'S  THE  NIGHT  321 

waiting  for  Currie  to  locate  the  Metcalf  still,  when 
they  intend  to  swoop  up  and  arrest  Old  Tom  and 
Sandy  and  me,  an  accessory,  if  they  can  get  their 
hands  on  us.  I  mean  that  you  are  a  more  miserable 
turncoat  than  Currie  ever  dreamed  of  being.  To 
think  that  any  man,  for  the  sake  of  twenty-five  dol- 
lars  " 

''Don't  you  call  me  cuss-names!  I  won't  leave 
smy  man  insult  me  to  my  face,  even  if " 

*'Even  if,"  Parker  insisted,  determined  to  sub- 
stantiate the  conclusions  which  had  come  to  him, 
■"you  are  hired  to  wait  around  and  help  him  help 
himself  to  Miss  Metcalf." 

"Who — who  told  you  that?" 

*'You  did,  in  spite  of  your  care  not  to! 
He's  been  insinuating  into  her  mind  all  along  that 
she,  too,  is  likely  to  be  arrested.  He  hopes  to 
stampede  her,  through  fear,  into  an  escape  with 
him.  I  thought  that  you  admired  her  your- 
self?" 

The  swain  nodded.  ^'That's  why  I  gave  you  a 
chance  to  take  a  hand  to  save  her." 

"And  if  I  didn't  take  a  hand,  you'd  see  Currie 
through  his  contemptible  scheme?" 

"When  you've  clean  run  outen  hope  of  getting 
a  girl,"  the  driver  offered  in  mournful  excuse,  "it 
don't  matter  much  which  other  man  gets  her.  I'd 
rather  it  wouldn't  be  Rex;  but  I  could  do  with  the 
twenty-five.  Of  course  Rex  allows  Verney  will 
splice  up  with  him  to  get  her  good  name  back,  onct 
it's  gone  by  his  taking  her  to  Tennessee.  He's  a 
double-dealing  dog,  sure  enough.  I'd  kinda  hoped 
that  you-uns,  as  she  seemed  to  take  a  shine  to  at 
first  sight " 


322     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

The  flow  of  RIker's  speech  was  arrested  by  Par- 
ker's expression. 

The  latter  stood  in  his  stirrups,  peering  toward 
the  high-line  of  the  horizon.  There  a  pillar  of 
smoke  lifted  Into  the  low-hanging  sky. 

"Looks  to  be  on  Fallaway  Rim!"  he  exclaimed. 
^'There's  nothing  around  there  to  burn  except — 
My  cabin  must  be  afire  !'* 

Riker  turned  on  the  box,  peered,  straightway 
yielded  to  excitements  of  his  own. 

*'It's  the  signal,  by  gum !  Dry  Dryden  gave  'em 
leave  to  burn  her  as  a  contribution  to  the  cause  and 
a  judgment  on  you  for  foohng  them  so  long.  Cur- 
rle's  done  found  the  still,  and  the  posse  will  soon 
be  on  the  way.    I'd  best  be  skitting  along,  stranger.'* 

Having  gathered  up  his  reins,  he  paused,  then 
lowered  a  cautious  word,  as  if  fearful  that  his 
splotch-freckled  grays  might  hear. 

"To-night's  the  night  I  was  telling  you  about. 
By  dark  I'm  to  be  waiting  at  the  mouth  of  Roaring 
Fork.  If  the  man  what  hires  me  loses  a  piece  of 
baggage  along  the  way,  that  hadn't  ought  to  cut 
the  driver's  price  none,  had  it?  I'm  counting  on 
you  to  act,  Mr.  C.  A.  Parker,  of  New  York!" 

Act  he  must,  and  at  once.  Parker  did  not  need 
to  be  told  that.    He  fully  realized  it. 


CHAPTER   XXXV 

THE  BALD  GRUMBLES 

As  the  lumbersome  vehicle,  which  once  before 
had  upset  him  and  his  calculations,  went  spinning 
down  the  road,  Parker  readjusted  his  plan.  No 
need  now  to  intercept  Currie  on  his  way  to  Dismal 
Gap,  since  the  news  of  his  discovery  already  had 
been  waved  to  them  on  a  sky-high  banner  of  smoke. 
No  time  was  there  to  waste,  searching  for  a  hillbilly 
in  the  woods  he  knew  so  well,  nor  strength  to  spare 
over  the  personal  indulgence  of  conquering  him 
single-handed. 

The  revenue  officers  who  were  to  inspect  the  evi- 
dence of  the  Metcalf  guilt  would  soon  start  on  their 
way.  For  the  time  being,  Verne  was  safe  with  her 
father  and  brother,  probably  driving  back  with  them 
somewhere  along  the  mountain  road  from  Tennes- 
see. There  was  one  chief  thing  left  for  him  to 
attempt.  Turning  Teetotaler,  he  struck  into  the 
back-track. 

^'If  you  and  I  are  up  to  it,"  he  urged  the  horse, 
"those  'infernals'  won't  find  any  evidence  or  take 
any  prisoners,  and  Lochinvar  Currie  will  elope  by 
himself — if  able  to  go  at  all!" 

Everything  in  nature  showed  offense  at  his  deci- 
sion. It  would  seem  that  Old  Tom,  who  had  ad- 
vanced his  last  blockade  trip  because  of  a  coming 
"stem-twister,"  was  about  to  be  proved  a  prophet 

323 


324     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

with  honor  In  his  own  land.  The  foregoing  oppres- 
sively sultry  night  had  been  followed  by  a  day  of 
unwonted  heat.  Although  no  breath  of  wind  re- 
lieved the  drooping  green  things  along  the  woodsy 
road,  more  frequent  rumbles  shuddered  the  altitudes. 
Ink-dark  clouds  formed  low,  only  to  scatter  down- 
ward In  making  way  for  darker  ones  above.  Not  a 
squirrel  or  rabbit  was  abroad,  It  seemed;  nor  could 
chirp  of  feathered  thing  be  heard.  In  the  portent, 
all-pervasive  hush,  the  thud  of  the  piebald's  hoofs 
sounded  like  defiance  to  high  command. 

Parker  held  his  left  shoulder  stiffly  and  high 
against  the  jolt  of  his  going,  mindful  that  he  must 
not  undo  the  work  of  those  who  had  cared  for  him. 
The  prospect  of  a  rain-storm  exhilarated  him.  No 
drenching,  he  felt,  could  chill  blood  at  boiling  heat, 
as  was  his.  To-day's  realization  of  the  whole  pains- 
taking scheme  to  seize  that  night  what  to  Parker 
was  the  most  precious  thing  on  earth 

At  mere  thought  of  Currle's  intention  his  mood 
made  that  of  nature  seem  a  childish  pet. 

His  attempt  to  turn  in  at  the  branch  brought 
vigorous  protest  from  Teetotaler,  who  had  stretched 
himself  willingly  to  that  point.  Obviously  the  pro- 
test came  from  fear  of  the  oncoming  storm  and  hope 
of  stable  shelter.  The  turn  was  made,  however,  and 
soon  the  sight  of  Solomon,  tugging  at  the  rope  which 
held  him  prisoner  among  the  rhododendrons,  re- 
warded him. 

On  re-entering  the  still-house,  Parker's  disappoint- 
ment was  keen.  The  black  had  done  nothing  observ- 
able, except  adjust  himself  to  a  sitting  posture,  his 
back  planted  against  the  stone  furnace. 

"Get  up  and  fall  to,  you  sloth  I" 


THE  BALD  GRUMBLES  325 

Parker  put  an  exclamation  point  to  this  command 
with  the  toe  of  his  boot. 

"Slorh — sloth,"  repeated  the  word-collector  inter- 
estedly. "If  you-uns  had  a  sloth  like  mine,  cap'n, 
you  wouldn't  get  up  for  a  week." 

"Well,  you're  through  slothing  for  the  immediate 
present — that  is,  unless  you  want  to  continue  your 
star  act  in  jail.  We've  got  less  than  an  hour  to  turn 
the  concrete  of  this  blockade  junk  into  abstract — into 
mere  heresay — a  false  alarm,  as  it  were.  Here,  lend 
a  hand  with  this  tub  of  mash !  We're  going  to  dump 
it  into  the  creek." 

Cotton  batted  his  mismated  eyes,  then  achieved 
an  unsteady  stand,  but  only  to  offer  further  objec- 
tion. 

"What's  the  abstract  hurry,  boss?  They-all  can 
never  find  this  hide-out — not  them  hearsay  officers." 

"They  don't  need  to  find  it.  They  know  already 
where  it  is,  and  are  on  their  way  this  minute.  The 
first  they'll  handcuff  is  you!" 

This  information  was  ill-advised,  as  Parker  rea- 
lized from  the  ague  of  terror  which  instantly  weak- 
ened the  negro's  none  too  reliable  assistance. 

"Lordy — oh,  Lord!"  he  wailed,  his  eyes  rolling 
upward  until  only  their  whites  showed.  "If  them 
infernals  are  on  their  way,  it's  time  for  a  concrete 
nigger  to  scoot.  Nobody  can't  say  I  ain't  a  believer 
in  Thee,  O  Lord,  but  it  ain't  religion  to  stay  here 
and  be  cuffed  like  a  infidel  what  never " 

"Likely  this  will  give  you  more  faith!" 

Parker  poked  his  steel  persuader  into  the  palpi- 
tating ribs.    Its  eloquence  was  at  once  manifest. 

After  the  refuse  had  been  consigned  to  the  lively 
waters  of  the  branch,  and  the  containers  thrown  into 


326    FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

separated  gullies,  Parker  directed  his  quaking  *'hand'* 
to  attack  the  lair  of  browse  behind  the  log  shack 
that  held  the  still  proper,  to  fell  the  supports  and 
scatter  the  bush  covering  into  the  surrounding  brush. 

Alone,  he  undertook  to  wreck  the  distillery  Itself. 
First,  he  withdrew  the  worm,  as  the  most  tell-tale 
bit  of  evidence.  This — Old  Tom's  treasured  piece 
of  "copper" — was  quickly  sunk  In  the  creek.  One- 
handed,  and  forced  to  vigilance  lest  his  unwilling 
aide  should  desert,  he  disposed  of  other  criminating 
articles  until  only  the  furnace  and  the  structure  Itself 
remained.  In  tearing  down  the  last,  he  decided 
to  use  Solomon  and  a  rope — this  after  he  had  tried 
and  failed  to  fire  the  fresh-cut  timbers. 

The  hybrid  understudy  of  Samson,  when  duly 
hitched  to  the  end  of  a  rope,  was  more  successful. 
Eventually  Parker  saw  the  Metcalf  "temple  of  hell" 
reduced  to  debris.  There  remained  only  the  destruc- 
tion of  the  stone  furnace.  Seeing  no  way  of  utilizing 
mule-muscle  upon  that,  he  attacked  It  with  a 
pick.  As  his  second  blow  struck  there  came  from 
out  the  sky  a  clap  like  that  of  Impending  doom. 
Shuddering  thunders  smothered  It,  but  not  the  shriek 
of  near-by  living  things.  The  mule,  the  horse,  and 
the  negro  were  lifting  pleas  for  mercy. 

Although  no  rain  had  fallen,  Old  Tom's  pre- 
dicted "stem-twister"  evidently  had  started  to  un- 
:^Ind.  Suddenly  the  darkness  had  become  sinister, 
the  heat  well-nigh  stifling.  Hearing  Sol's  frantic  ef- 
forts to  break  loose,  Parker  hurried  toward  him,  but 
just  in  time  to  see  the  little  animal  streaking  down 
the  creek  toward  home.  Before  he  could  reach 
Teetotaler,  the  horse,  too,  had  broken  his  halter 
and  taken  the  course  of  least  resistance,  evidencing 


THE  BALD  GRUMBLES  327 

that  he,  at  least,  entertained  no  doubt  that  Solomon 
was  really  wise. 

Through  the  unwonted  daytime  gloom,  Parker 
stumbled  back  to  the  unsolved  problem  of  the  fur- 
nace and  tried  In  vain  to  prod  it  apart.  As  if  some 
super-lion  were  resisting  his  attack,  renewed  roars 
deafened  him,  the  ground  beneath  him  rocked. 

He  sprang  back  just  in  time.  At  his  very  feet  a 
mouth  of  rocky  earth  opened  In  a  grin,  a  growl,  or, 
mayhap,  a  gape  of  weariness,  and  gulped  the  stub- 
born object  of  his  assault — rocks,  cement,  all.  He 
stared  down,  dazed  at  the  sudden  disappearance. 
The  fissure-mouth  did  not  widen,  but  continued  to 
grin  up  at  him,  as  if  in  derision  at  the  puny  attempts 
of  mankind. 

Springing  across,  Parker  followed  the  whelplike 
wails  of  the  negro.  Cotton  Eye  lay  groveling,  face 
downward,  on  the  ground,  his  hope  of  placating  the 
storm  gods  seeming  to  rest  upon  his  reiterated  oath 
never,  providing  he  was  spared,  to  sniff  "sniffins'* 
again.  His  would-be  rescuer  might  as  well  have  ex- 
pected assistance  from  a  jelly-fish.  In  the  Imminent 
hour.  Cotton  was  shaken  by  religion.  Even  the  re- 
volver prod  proved  to  have  lost  its  effective- 
ness. 

When  a  lightning  bolt  shattered  a  nearby  hem- 
lock and  brought  it  crashing  to  the  ground,  the  pen- 
itent flattened,  then  lay  still,  evidently  thinking  him- 
self hit  and  beyond  the  power  of  the  last  resort  of 
prayer. 

"Get  up  or  I'll  leave  you  alone  with  your  Godl" 

Parker  added  a  pedal  argument. 

Only  a  hopeless  plaint  replied.  *'It's  done  come 
ahead  of  schedulum — the  end  of  the  world!     I 


328     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

wasn't  expecting  the  judgment  day  so  soon.  I  ain't 
prepared — I'm  bounden  for  hell-fire!" 

In  amen  there  burst  a  roar  from  the  convulsed 
ground.  Compared  to  the  sky  thunders — the  crash- 
ing explosions  of  atmospheric  voids  high  above — 
this  was  as  the  all-great  blast  of  omnipotence  to  a 
whiff  of  wind.  Repeatedly  its  rage  was  voiced,  with 
cumulative  virulence. 

A  terror  more  definite  than  that  over  his  brim- 
stone deserts  brought  the  negro  to  his  feet. 

"Grumbly  Bald — that  there  was  the  voice  of  the 
Bald!"  he  shrilled  above  the  weather  wails.  "If  he's 
going  on  one  of  his  rampages,  cap'n,  there  ain't  no 
use  to  pray;  we're  worse  than  dead  a'ready.'* 

Cotton's  despair  reminded  Parker  of  local  reports 
about  the  mountain — of  the  volcano  in  its  heart  that 
had  slumbered  of  recent  years,  but  in  the  past  had 
erupted  in  landslides  which  had  cleft  its  sides  and 
worn  great  wrinkles  in  its  bare  dome.  When,  in  his 
pause  for  consideration,  a  fragment  of  rock  from 
some  shelf  above  leaped  out  at  mysterious  command 
and  crashed  downward,  splintering  all  that  resisted 
its  course,  he  accepted  the  negro's  conclusion. 

A  second  descending  missile,  accompanied  by  the 
noise  of  cut-off  trees  and  gritting  boulders,  made  him 
realize  the  full  urgency  of  the  situation.  One  might 
lie  prostrate  in  prayer  to  storm  gods  that  spoke  from 
the  heavens,  but  to  escape  the  spleen  of  fiends  break- 
ing loose  from  the  earth  beneath  one  took  to  flight. 

Grasping  the  black  by  the  collar,  Parker  half  led, 
half  dragged  him  into  the  creek.  There  the  descent 
was  more  certain  in  footing,  despite  the  splash  of 
waters.  To  the  utmost  of  his  one-handed  capacity, 
he  strove  to  keep  the  fear-riven  parcel  of  humanity 


THE  BALD  GRUMBLES  329 

upright  while  struggling  down  the  uncertain  course; 
repeatedly  dodged  the  following  rush  of  dislodged 
rocks;  avoided,  as  best  he  might,  the  face-lashing  of 
back-flung  branches  that  overhung  the  stream. 

There  came  a  moment  when  all  sound  ceased.  It 
seemed  as  if  the  universe  was  drawing  breath.  The 
scowl  of  darkness  deepened.  The  heat  of  super- 
natural wrath  exuded  from  all  pores  in  a  pressure 
of  humidity  almost  overpowering.  Then,  from  out 
a  thousand  eyes,  shot  lightnings.  Head,  shoulders, 
body — the  mountain  seemed  to  rise  and  shake  off  its 
overcoat  of  earth.  All  the  thunders  from  above  and 
below  united  in  one  tremendous  clap. 

With  a  whimper  of  surrender,  Cotton  Eye  Lee 
flopped  In  the  creek.  In  vain  Parker  tugged  at 
him,  dipped  his  head  into  the  rushing  water,  im- 
plored him  to  rise  up  and  help  save  his  own  life. 
They  would  be  overtaken,  probably  buried  in  the 
muck  of  the  mountain  if  they  paused — that  he  real- 
ized from  the  increasing  bombardment  above.  There 
was  possibly  time  to  save  himself,  yet  he  could  not 
leave  a  fear-palsied  fellow  to  his  fate. 

Over  and  over,  down  the  shallow  branch,  he  man- 
aged to  turn  the  hulk  of  the  black,  who  clutched  at 
root  and  rock  to  hinder  his  own  salvation.  Parker's 
strength,  even  his  hope,  was  fast  deserting  him.  He, 
too,  had  begun  to  stumble,  frequently  to  fall.  He 
had  crouched  with  his  self-imposed  charge  by  the 
stream-side,  had  consigned  their  two  lives  to  the 
mountain's  mercy,  when — "Cal!     Oh,  Cal!     CalF* 

Like  a  summons  from  another  world,  the  woman's 
call  waved  upward.  Parker  sprang  again  to  hi^ 
unequal  task,  made  a  thing  of  steel  by  a  fear  new 
and  more  vitalizing  than  his  fear  for  himself. 


CHAPTER   XXXVI 

DREAMS  MADE  REAL 

From  the  other  side  of  Roaring  Fork  there 
splashed  to  help  him  Old  Tom  and  Sandyred,  with 
Vernaluska  in  the  lead.  The  team  and  spring- 
wagon,  standing  on  the  bank,  told  of  their  safe 
return  and  immediate  departure  in  search  of  him. 

The  girl  was  almost  inarticulate  in  her  relief,  even 
after  all  had  reached  the  comparative  safety  of  a 
hemlock-sheltered  knoll  across  the  main  stream. 

"When  Miss  Emmy  told  us-all  where  you  had 

gone,  with  this  storm  coming  on Afterward, 

when   Sol    and   your   horse   tore   past   us    on   the 

road Well,    Parkerman,    empty   saddles   ain't 

cheering  sights !  I  was  afraid  that  you — that  our 
judge  of  the  hills " 

A  deafening  rumble  silenced  her. 

Strong,  triumphant,  rang  Old  Tom's  voice.  *'It's 
done  come  at  last — at  lastT^ 

"Into  the  wagon,  all  of  you,"  shouted  Sandyred. 

"We'd  best  make  a  dash  for  the  clearing." 

The  old  man  refused  to  comply.  The  others 
must  go,  but  without  him. 

"The  end — I've  waited  all  my  life  for  this  here 
end!"  he  exulted  above  crash  and  crumble. 

Parker  drew  the  mountain  girl  aside.  Above  hi? 
weariness,  greater  than  the  pain  from  his  overtaxed 

330 


DREAMS  MADE  REAL  331 

shoulder,  more  impelling  than  the  mood  of  the  ele- 
ments, was  his  desire  to  be  alone  with  her.  In  the 
noise  of  mere  cataclysmic  eruptions,  mere  destruc- 
tion of  forests  and  streams — loud  above  any  struggle 
of  life  or  death,  was  the  whisper  in  his  heart  that 
must  reach  her  ears. 

**Verne,"  he  said  quietly,  "I  love  you.'* 

He  had  thought  her  pale  before.  Now,  with  the 
wide  brim  of  her  flower  hat  lifted  by  the  wind  that 
was  beginning  to  move  the  hemlocks,  he  saw  all 
color  leave  her  lips  and  cheeks.  She  tore  her  eyes 
away  from  his,  but  not  before  he  had  seen  that  they 
were  startled,  resentful. 

The  demand  which  had  held  him  by  the  roadside 
that  carnival  morn  caught  up  with  to-day. 

*'Do  you  love  me,  Verne?"  he  asked,  then  waited 
a  moment  in  vain. 

Although  she  had  seized  the  hat  brim  and  was 
holding  it  over  her  upper  face,  it  failed  to  hide  the 
fact  that  her  lips  were  stiffly  set. 

^'Because  if  you  do  love  me" — he  leaned  toward 
her,  that  she  might  be  sure  to  hear,  but  did  not 
touch  her — "if  you  do,  I  want  you  to  tell  me  so.  You 
do  not  trust  me — I  want  you  to  conquer  your  dis- 
trust. Can't  you  tell  me — can't  you  trust  me,  no 
matter  what  you  think?  You  have  entrusted  all 
your  material  secrets  to  me,  and  I  have  not  proved 
unworthy  of  you  and  yours,  have  I?  This  would 
mean  so  much  to  me,  Verne.  If  you  could  trust  me 
with  this  greater  secret — could  tell  me  what  I  want 
to  know,  you  would  make  me  very  happy  for  all  my 
life." 

She  turned  back  to  him,  whether  moved  by  his 
voice  or  the  wilder  winds.     All  the  resentful  lines 


332     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

had  smoothed  from  her  face.  She  had  yielded,  he 
could  see,  to  the  fearless  generosity  that  had  made 
her  supreme  among  women  to  him.  Although  her 
lips  parted,  she  did  not  speak.  Yet  her  face  told 
that  she  had  forgotten  the  storm.  She  lifted  her 
arms  to  his  neck  and  her  face  to  his,  not  to  invite, 
but  to  give  their  first  kiss.  She  just  gave  him  the 
kiss  of  her  heart  from  modest  lips  that  never  had 
kissed  for  dear  love's  sake  before. 

So  did  Cal  Parker's  fondest  dream  come  true. 

This  had  been  his  hope  of  what  she  might  one 
day  do.  He  never  forgot  the  moment.  Amid  na- 
ture's uproar,  he  stood  absolutely  still,  realizing  it. 
By  not  so  much  as  a  movement  toward  her  of  his 
hand  did  he  spoil  the  divine  voluntariness  of  it — that 
moment  in  which  his  world  was  won. 

Only  when  she  shrank  away  from  him  with  a  low, 
hurt  cry  did  he  understand  that  she  doubted  his 
appreciation;  only  then  did  he  clutch  her  to  him 
as  if  never  to  let  her  go,  did  he  murmur  the  relief 
that  was  almost  too  poignant  to  endure. 

"Verne.  .  .  .  My  Springtime.  .  .  .  All  my  life." 

About  then  it  was  that  the  bullying  storm  gods, 
as  if  aggravated  to  tears  that  two  mortals  should 
rise  superior  to  fear,  began  to  pelt  the  tortured, 
quaking  earth  with  torrents  of  rain. 

A  cry  from  Sandyred  rang  startlingly.  "Don't 
go  yet,  dad — it  ain't  safe  yet !" 

But  Old  Tom  Metcalf  paid  no  heed.  Down  from 
the  sheltered  knoll,  across  the  creek  and  up  the 
opposite  mountainside  he  started,  as  regardless  of 
the  lashing  waters  and  bad  going  underfoot  as  of  the 
deluge  from  above.     In  his  wake,  after  an  order 


DREAMS  MADE  REAL  333 

to  the  negro  to  mind  the  team,  hurried  his  son. 
Sandy,  In  turn,  was  followed  by  the  lovers. 

With  the  shrapnel  of  hail,  the  cannonading  of 
the  mountain  ceased;  the  landslides  gradually  slowed, 
then  stopped  altogether.  When  the  boulders  on  the 
way  had  followed  their  vanguard  Into  Roaring  Fork, 
the  down-rush  was  at  an  end.  The  comparative 
quiet,  the  relief  from  atmospheric  pressure,  the  re- 
freshment of  the  rain  awoke  a  sense  of  exhilaration. 

Urgently  as  the  three  young  people  called  for  a 
halt  of  the  doughty  explorer  ahead,  hard  after  as 
they  pressed,  they  were  unable  to  overtake  him. 
The  climb  was  made  more  difficult  in  that  all  trace  of 
the  branch — their  former  trackless  path — was  gone. 
Doubtless  It  was  itself  struggling  here  and  yon,  un- 
der the  dead  weight  of  the  volcano's  spume,  to  force 
a  way  to  the  mother  stream  below.  Vanished  was 
the  rhododendron  thicket,  the  forest  of  hemlocks, 
the  chevaiix-de-frise  of  laurel  spikes.  Completely 
covered  was  the  site  of  the  still-house  which  Parker 
had  demolished  in  the  emergency. 

But  the  patriarch  did  not  pause  to  note  these 
miracles.  Up  and  up  he  clambered,  past  the  location 
of  his  quondam  Industry,  to  what  once  had  been  a 
shelving  ledge,  now  upturned — as  it  were.  Inside  out. 
The  cabin,  whose  window  frames  had  been  read- 
justed by  a  previous  disturbance,  still  stood,  although 
tilted  at  a  rakish  angle.  Heaps  of  debris  lay  all 
about  it,  and  just  above  an  open  wound  was  slashed 
across  the  mountain's  face. 

Was  it  that  mysterious  lard-pail  treasure-trove 
which  the  old  man  sought,  Parker  wondered? 

A  cry  escaped  Vernaluska  when  she  saw  her  par- 
ent hurl  himself  headlong  into  the  cut.     Running, 


334     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

held  from  stumbling  by  the  two  men,  she  reached 
the  edge,  to  find  him  on  his  knees  upon  the  easy  slope 
within.  He  was  clawing  through  the  shattered  rock, 
was  chortling  and  exclaiming  in  a  demented  way. 

^'Hell's  banjer!  Richer  than  I'd  ever  hoped!  No 
more  stilling  for  Tom,  sure  enough !  Blue  flames — 
mine — all  mine  !'* 

*'Tommie — hi,  Tom!"  cried  the  girl,  scrambling 
after  him,  her  voice  apprehensive  lest  the  volcano 
had  disturbed  his  reason,  as  well  as  the  mountain- 
scape. 

But  the  smile  with  which  he  rose  anH  turned  upon 
her  had  calmness  In  It  and  reassurance  as  well  as  the 
elation  of  a  life-quest  fulfilled. 

"You-all  don't  need  to  worry  over  your  pappy 
no  more,  my  girl-child — you  nor  Sandyred,"  he  said, 
taking  off  his  battered  hat  and  brushing  back  his 
leonine  shock  of  tawny  hair.  "The  Bald,  I  always 
calculated,  would  justify  balmy  Tom  some  day.  Now 
she's  done  gone  and  done  it.  Look  you-all  at  this — 
and  this — and  this!" 

He  handed  a  bit  of  rock  to  each.  Parker  examined 
his  with  amazement,  rubbed  It  against  his  coat,  took 
out  the  small  brooch  from  his  cravat  with  which 
to  compare  it. 

"An  amethyst  of  the  finer  grade,"  he  exclaimed, 
"bluish-violet,  rich  in  manganese,  large — ^just  wait- 
ing for  the  polisher  to  make  it  a  precious  gem!" 

"Do  you  mean,  Tom — can  you  mean  that  ame- 
thysts are  the  flames  you've  been  searching  for  all 
these  years?  Why  didn't  you  tell  us-all?"  The 
questions  rushed  from  Vernaluska. 

The  rain  began  to  slacken  and,  drenched  though 
they  were,  the  three  listened  entranced  to  Old  Tom's 


DREAMS  MADE  REAL  335 

account  of  the  long  search  for  the  secret  hid  in 
the  mountain's  heart. 

A  dispute  over  the  first  gem  found  upon  a  bar  of 
Roaring  Fork  it  was  that  had  led  to  a  lasting  enmity 
between  the  elder  Metcalf  and  Dode  Currie.  Old 
Tom  had  picked  it  up,  and  Rex's  father  had  claimed 
it  because  the  bar  of  its  lodgment  had  been  on  his 
side  of  the  creek.  Afterward  the  elder  Currie  had 
spent  much  time  searching  the  Bald  for  the  "mother 
lode,"  and  had  refused  all  offers  Metcalf  could  make 
by  way  of  purchase.  He  had  died,  however,  without 
reward  for  his  scratching. 

"I  kept  on  sifting  the  creek  bars,"  continued  Old 
Tom,  ''and  found  one  time  and  again.  At  last  I 
came  upon  a  beauty  and  toted  It  to  a  jeweler  in 
Asheville.  He  got  so  plumb  excited  in  his  offer  for 
it  that  he  obliged  me  with  an  Idea  of  what  a  lode 
of  them  might  be  worth.  From  him  I  got  a  notion 
of  going  down  into  Sapphire  County  and  studying 
formations  there,  where  gems  have  been  mined  for 
years.  But  nature  didn't  give  me  no  helping  hand 
— that  not  being  an  amethyst  country.  After  that 
come  times  when  I  nigh  lost  hope,  just  as  I  give 
up  ever  buying  the  Bald  offen  Rex." 

"Queer  it  should  be  a  mine  of  amethysts  that  I 
have  helped  the  family  to  recover,"  Parker  com- 
mented, "I  who  need  them  in  my  cup  more  than 
ever  ancient  did!" 

"But  that  beauty  you  found,  dad?"  reminded  San- 
dyred. 

"I  never  sold  it,  but  give  it  to  Verney.  My  no- 
tion was  to  preserve  her  again  ever  hitching  with 
a  drinking  man.  Then  she  give  it  over,  so  she 
told  me,  to  preserve  one  of  them  ag'in'  himself." 


336     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

The  patriarch's  eyes  twinkled  as  he  noticed  Parker 
replacing  the  talisman.  Exultation  threatened  his 
coherency  as  he  bent  again  over  the  vein  of  crystal- 
line quartz  uncovered  by  the  split. 

*'Gad  a'mlghty,  just  to  think  I  Scant  wonder  I 
couldn't  never  dig  up  any  of  you  beauties  when 
you  lay  abed  in  solid  rock.  Once  I  owned  the  Bald 
for  good,  I  was  minding  to  blast  out  this  whole 
ledge,  but  I  didn't  dast  leave  any  one  know — not 
even  my  boy  or  gal.  Sandy  ain't  got  his  tongue 
under  halter,  and  Verney — well,  I  couldn't  be  cer- 
tain sure,  up  to  late  days,  that  she  wa'n't  going  to 
graft  her  secrets  onto  Rex.  If  he'd  even  got  an 
idea — ^the  low-down  aspiring  hound — he'd  never 
a'sold  over  the  mountain  to  me,  nor  Parker,  nor 
none." 

His  look  turned  anxious. 

"Say,  out-Norther,  you-all  ben't  going  back  on 
selling  us  Crumbly  Bald  now  that  you  know,  be 
you?  You  wouldn't  never  have  susplcloned  the 
facts  but  for  me." 

As  Parker  assured  them  that  with  him  a  bargain 
held,  the  sounds  of  hard  riding  came  from  below, 
of  shouting,  of  a  distinct  laugh  which  all  recognized. 
He  broke  off  to  name  the  disturbance. 

"The  revenue  posse!" 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

TRUE   BLUE 

Sandy  Metcalf  confirmed  it.  "They  sure  are 
the  law-brlngers,  with  Varmint  Currie  in  the  lead! 
We've  got  to  head  'em  away  from  the  still-house 
until " 

"By  God,"  the  old  man  interrupted,  starting  after 
his  son,  "we-all  can't  lose  out  now  that  we've  won! 
I'll  shoot  the  whole  kit-caboodle  before  I  let  the 
spies  get  evidence  on  me." 

"Wait!"  Parker's  call  halted]  the  down-rush- 
ing blockaders.  "No  need  to  shoot  anybody  this 
afternoon.  Let  them  look  for  the  still-house.  They 
won't  find  it  or  the  worm  either." 

"You  mean  to  say,  Parkerman,  that  you " 

Vernaluska  seized  him  by  the  arm  In  an  agony 
of  hope. 

"I  mean  that  you  have  nothing  to  fear.  Just  at 
the  last,  after  I  had  done  all  I  could.  Judge  Crumbly 
Bald  sent  out  an  edict  destroying  the  last  bit  of 
evidence." 

Her  face  lifted  to  his  in  the  rain,  now  become  a 
drizzle.  It  seemed  to  reflect  the  waxing  light  from 
above  as  she  queried,  almost  afraid  to  believe: 

"The  judge — our  judge — has  acquitted  us-all 
through  his  court  of  hills?" 

Perhaps  she  noticed,  certainly  Parker  did,  that 
the  sun  broke  through  the  clouds  in  the  direction  of 

337 


338     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

Fallaway  Rim  as  they  descended  to  meet  the  posse. 

Rex  Currie  indeed  headed  the  cavalcade.  The 
two  strangers  behind  him  evidently  were  the  "real'' 
revenuers.  Riding  just  back  of  them  was  the  dough- 
ty sheriff  warranted  to  "get  'em."  With  the  rear 
guard  rode  Colonel  Dryden,  Dr.  Prosch,  and  one 
who  was  visibly  suffering  from  the  rigors  of  un- 
wonted equestrianism — that  champion  "jumper"  of 
molars,  Strength-of-the-Lord  Plott. 

Tugging  viciously  at  his  short  mustache,  Currie 
stared  about  him  at  the  havoc  which  the  mountain 
had  wrought  upon  itself.  When  the  officers  looked  to 
him  with  Impatience,  he  only  shook  his  head.  Per- 
force they  set  about  their  own  search,  but  with  dl- 
minlshing  ferocity.  After  the  ground  had  been  gone 
over  thoroughly  and  nothing  discovered,  there 
seemed  not  much  for  them  to  say — nothing  they 
could  do  in  the  name  of  the  law. 

One  began  to  discuss  the  recent  eruption  quite 
pleasantly  with  him  who  had  been  reported  as  the 
most  reprehensible  blockader  of  both  the  Carolinas. 
In  preparation  for  an  ignominious  retreat,  he  ex- 
panded to  an  explanation  of  where  he  and  the  rest 
of  the  gentlemen  out  "pleasure  riding"  had  weath- 
ered the  recent  storm. 

Bidding  Vernaluska  stay  close  to  her  father  and 
Sandyred,  Parker  strode  across  to  where  Currie 
stood  scowling  beside  his  horse.  At  his  approach,  the 
hillbilly  made  a  movement  toward  his  hip. 

"Don't  try  to  draw."  The  counter-command  came 
bitlngly.  "I've  had  you  covered  these  fifteen  min- 
utes." 

Perhaps  then  It  was  that  the  turncoat  noticed 
where  Parker  carried  the  hand  of  his  well  arm — in 


TRUE  BLUE  339 

his  right  coat-pocket.  At  any  rate,  he  did  not  finish 
his  movement  toward  self-defense. 

Although  the  audience  was  attentive,  none  heard 
the  brief  exchange. 

"I  haven't  told  the  Metcalf  men  the  real  object 
behind  your  plan,  Currle,  because  I  don't  want  them 
to  redden  their  hands  with  your  blood." 

*'Don't  see  as  my  object  Is  any  concern  of " 

*'But  It  Is.  If  I  hadn't  something  to  live  for  too 
worth-while  to  miss,  I'd  have  It  out  with  you  right 
here.  As  It  is,  I'm  going  to  give  you  one  chance 
at  a  getaway.  Tobe  RIker  will  be  waiting  for  you 
at  the  mouth  of  Roaring  Fork  at  dark  to-night. 
Are  you  going  to  keep  your  appointment  with  him?" 

^'Whlch  nor  whether,  I  ain't  going  to  be  dictated 
to  by " 

"Oh,  yes,  you  are — by  me.  Safety  first  demands 
that  you  don't  disappoint  Tobe  In  the  matter  of  the 
twenty-five  dollars  and  one  passenger  at  least.  After 
dark.  If  you're  not  gone,  have  an  eye  for  a  smaller 
posse  than  the  one  you  led  here  to-day.  It  will  be 
after  you.  Good-by  and  better  luck  In  the  next  elope- 
ment you  plan.  No  tricks,  now !  I'll  keep  your  back 
covered,  and,  really,  I'm  not  a  bad  shot  at  some  one 
I  dislike,  once  I  make  up  my  mind  to  shoot." 

The  hillbilly's  curse  was  the  only  fragment  the 
onlookers  caught  as  he  began  picking  his  way  over 
the  slide.  He  was  followed  shortly  by  as  dejected 
a  revenue  posse  as  ever  started  on  a  back  trip  sans 
copper  worm  or  prisoners. 

On  the  short,  jolting  wagon-ride  home,  Parker 
noticed  through  his  utter  weariness  that  a  shadow 
lay  on  the  face  of  Verne.     That  through  all  the 


340     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

exultation  a  shadow  should  rest  on  her  face,  other 
than  that  cast  by  the  drooping  hat  of  ruined  roses, 
spoiled  his  joy.  Then,  all  at  once,  he  remembered 
' — he  understood. 

They  had  been  interrupted  by  old  Tom's  start  up 
the  mountain  in  that  sweet,  vital  moment  when  she 
had  given  him  her  lips.  Of  course  he  had  been 
unthinking  of  her,  selfish  in  his  own  relief,  really 
unforgivable.  The  shadow  was  from  those  words 
he  still  had  not  said. 

He  could  make  no  chance  to  speak  until  after 
they  had  entered  the  living-room,  until  Miss  Emmy 
had  evolved  one  conclusion  from  the  garbled  tales 
poured  into  her  ears — to  get  her  recalcitrant  invalid 
back  under  control  without  further  delay. 

But  he  caught  Vernaluska's  hand  and  drew  her 
aside.  With  pain  for  what  was  hurting  her  deeper 
than  that  from  his  shoulder,  he  noted  her  reluc- 
tance. 

*T  know  It  is  no  time  to  stop  you — ^to  discuss 
future  plans.  We're  all  soaked  to  the  skin  and — 
and  about  worn'  out,  I  guess."  He  spoke  through 
white  lips  and  laid  a  hand  on  the  window  frame  for 
support.  "But  I  just  can't  wait  to  know.  Verne" 
— he  forced  himself  to  speak  more  briskly — "would 
you  prefer  to  marry  me  at  once  or  wait  until  after 
I " 

"Why — why "  she  stammered,  the  color  that 

had  been  so  conspicuously  absent  rushing  back  to 
her  face. 

"Of  course  no  client  should  try  to  Interpose  his 
own  for  the  judgment  of  his  counsel,"  he  pled, 
with  a  wraithlike  reminiscence  of  the  Cal  Parker 
smile,  "but  If  you  would  decide  to  marry  me  right 


TRUE  BLUE  341 


away,  dear — if  you  could  take  just  one  more  step  in 
your  proof  of  faith  In  me " 

"Your  return  to  New  York?  The  child  woman 
— ^what  about  her?" 

"My  return  is  postponed  until  you  go  with  me. 
Sylvia — she's  an  angel.  And  the  man  I  persisted 
in  thinking  my  friend  is  just  a  yellow  cur.  Only  wait 
until  I  show  you  the  engagement  gift  they  have  sent 
us!" 

He  pointed  to  an  upside-down  picture  of  a  lady 
in  a  Gainsborough  hat  which  newly  adorned  the  wall 
— ^the  only  clipping,  he  explained,  upon  which  Miss 
Emmy's  hand  had  "slipped."  Aloud  he  read  from 
the  "gentled-down"  text  that  had  come  with  it, 
pasted  beneath  the  sill. 

The  marriage  of  Miss  Sylvia  Bralnard  to  Mr.  Spencer 
Pope,  deputy  collector  of  United  States  Internal  Revenue, 
was  solemnized  at  high  noon  yesterday  at  the  home  of  the 
bride's  parents.  The  ceremony  was  a  surprise,  even  to  im- 
mediate friends,  as  it  was  hastened  by  an  illness  which  Mrs. 
Brainard,  mother  of  the  bride,  had  contracted  on  a  recent 
trip  South.  The  latter  was  able,  however,  to  appear  at  the 
ceremony,  and  her  speedy  recovery  is  predicted  as  one  of  the 
happy  results  of  the  alliauce. 

Parker  straightened  from  his  reading  of  this  news. 
Something  in  the  look  of  the  fawn-green  eyes  made 
him  fear  that  Verne  was  about  to  flee  again.  He 
caught  her  hand. 

"This  was  why  I  couldn't  speak — not  until  I  was 
free,"  he  said  quickly.  "Of  course,  if  you'd  rather 
wait  until  I've  shown  myself  a  safe  bet  as  a  mar- 
riage proposition " 

"You?     I  reckon  you've   done  proved  yourself 


342     FLAMES  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

a-plenty."  Words  came  to  her  in  defense  of  him 
against  himself.  "When  the  judge  roars  'Not  guilty!* 
so  that  all  our  world  can  hear,  should  your  counsel 
object?  Sure  enough,  Cal,  you  have  been  tried 
by  fire." 

*'The  dross  is  all  burnt  away,"  he  assured  her 
when  he  held  her  close,  *'by  the  flame  of  what  I  feel 
for  you." 

That  particular  flame  of  the  many  In  their  after- 
lives proved  to  be  strong,  controlled,  steady. 

And  it  was  blue — ^true  blue. 


THE   END 


